PERSONALIA 


PERSONALIA 

INTIMATE     RECOLLECTIONS 
OF    FAMOUS    MEN 

POLITICAL,    LITERARY,    ARTISTIC, 
SOCIAL,    VARIOUS 


BY 

SIGMA" 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1903 


Copyright,    1903,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,    PAGE    &    COMPANY 


6 


PREFACE 

The  author  of  "  Peter  Bell"  in  one  of 
his  most  superior  moods  austerely  dissoci- 
ated himself  from  all  those  who  "  season 
their  firesides  with  personal  talk,"&  and 
if  in  this  "  gossipy"  age  there  are  any  who 
share  the  poet's  antipathy  they  are  earnestly 
counselled  to  avoid  this  little  volume. 

Nor  is  it  intended  for  those  eclectic 
individuals  who  perceive  in  every  anecdote 
a  "  chestnut"  and  in  every  jest  a  "Joe 
Miller,"  but  solely  for  such  as  may  be  fated 
to  dwell  beyond  the  radius  of  omniscience. 


9  J 


30.T18 


11  Majestic  Homer  on  occasion  nods 

Not  always  doth  Olympus  charm  the  Gods  ; 
And  from  the  sounding  deep  who  will  not  turn 
—     At  times  to  hear  the  babble  of  the  burn  ?  " 


CONTENTS 

I.     Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties       .  i 

Lord  Palmer ston — Lord  Russell — Lord  Amberley — Bishop 
Colenso — Lord  Brougham — Doctor  H.  M.  Butler — 
Doctor  Christopher  Wordsworth — Sir  Robert  Peel — Bishop 
of  Salisbury — "Billy"  Westcott — The  Marquis  of  Bute — 
John  Smith — Doctor  Farrar — Lord  George  Hamilton — 
Mr.  Labouchere — Lord  Clarendon  and  His  Brothers — 
Lord  Caledon — Lord  Tweedmouth — Archbishop  Davidson 
— Mr.  Justice  Ridley — Sir  Francis  Jeune — Sir  Charles 
Hall — The  Lord  Advocate — 7.  D.  Walker — C.  F.  Buller. 

II.     Lawyers  ....  53 

Chief  Baron  Pollock — Edwin  James — Baron  C.  E.  Pollock — 
Lord  Bramwell — Mr.  Justice  Byles — V  ice-Chancellor 
Bacon — Lord  Chief  Justice  Cockburn — Lord  Coleridge — 
Lord  Bowen — Lord  Westbury — "Dick"  Bethell — Sir 
George  Jessel — Vice-Chancellor  Malins — Sir  Francis 
Jeune — Lord  Lyndhurst — Lord  Chelmsford — Lord  Chan- 
cellor Cairns. 

III.     The  Church      ....       121 

Bishop  Blomfield — Doctor  Hinds  and  Lord  Palmerston — 
Archbishop  Tait — Mrs.  Tait — Bishop  Jackson  and  the 
Lincolnshire  Clergy — "Squarson"  King — Parson  Dymoke 
— Bishop  Sumner — Lord  Thurlow — Bishop  Wilberforce 
— William  Wilberforce — Professor  Jowett — His  Favourite 
Pupils — A  Dinner  Party  at  Jowett' s — Lord  Goschen — 
Lord   Milner. 

vii 


viii  Contents — Continued 

IV.     Art  and  Letters^.         .         •  195 

The  Pre-Raphaelite  Painters  and  Charles  Augustus  Howell — 
A  Curious  Dinner  Party — Leonard  Rowe  Valpy — A 
Luncheon  at  Howell's — Mr.  Sivinburne — His  Contempt 
for  Tennyson — His  Eton  Days  and  Adventure  with  the 
Headmaster — His  Novel — Edward  Burne-Jones — His 
Indignation  Against  Du  Maurier — Oscar  Wilde  as  a  Wit 
and  Playwright — D.  G.  Rossetti — J.  T.  Nettleship — 
" 'The  Lost  Leader" — Browning — Sir  Edgar  Boehm — 
Thackeray  and  Trollope — Tom  Robertson — H.  I.  Byron 
and  Sir  F.  Bumand — Patty  Oliver — "Tom"  Holmes 
— Palgrave  Simpson  and  "the  Gods" — Alfred  Wigan — 
Aimee  Desclee — William  Terriss — A  Remarkable  Dream. 

V.     Personages  and  Retrospects     .       259 

Disraeli — Disraeli  and  Gladstone — A  Parliamentary  Nestor 
— Canning — Lord  Melbourne  and  the  Importunate  Place- 
Hunter — Lord  Henry  Bentinck — Lady  Jersey — Disraeli 
in  the  Hunting-field — Prime  Ministers  as  Sportsmen — A 
Reminiscence  of  Mr.  Fox — Mementoes  of  Lord  Chatham 
and  Mr.  Pitt — Miss  Perceval  and  George  III. — A  Military 
Veteran — Lady  Louisa  Tighe — Colonel  Tighe — William 
IV.  and  His  Buffoonery — Lord  Byron — Mrs.  Stowe's 
Calumny — Sir  Percy  Shelley  and  Field  Place — The 
Transfiguration  of  London — Changes  and  Innovations. 


I. 


HARROW 
IN  THE  EARLY  SIXTIES 


Lord  P  aimer  ston — Lord  Russell — Lord  Amberley — Bishop 
Colenso — Lord  Brougham — Doctor  Montagu  Butler — 
Doctor  Christopher  Wordsworth — Sir  Robert  Peel — Bishop 
of  Salisbury — "Villy"  Westcott — The  Marquis  of  Bute — 
John  Smith — Doctor  Farrar — Lord  George  Hamilton — 
Mr.  Labouchere — Lord  Clarendon  and  His  Brothers — 
Lord  Caledon — Lord  Tweedmouth — Archbishop  Davidson 
— Mr.  Justice  Ridley — Sir  Francis  Jeune — Sir  Charles 
Hall— The  Lord  Advocate— I.  D.  Walker— C.  F.  Buller. 


PERSONALIA 

I. 
HARROW  IN  THE  EARLY  SIXTIES 

WITH  the  exception  of  its  singular 
collapse  under  the  headmastership 
of  Doctor  Christopher  Wordsworth, 
of  which  more  anon,  Harrow  has  continuously 
prospered  for  upward  of  a  century.  But  per- 
haps it  attained  its  zenith  during  the  second 
and  more  famous  administration  of  Lord 
Palmerston,  a  statesman  who,  with  a  normal 
majority  of  little  more  than  twenty,  succeeded 
in  investing  the  country  with  a  prestige 
which  it  had  not  enjoyed  since  the  days  of 
Canning.  The  Prime  Minister's  position  was 
unique,  for  save  in  name  there  was  no  oppo- 
sition ;  the  word  "  party  "  seemed  to  have  been 
obliterated  by  that  of  "  Palmerston,"  and  any 

3 


4  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

attempt  to  displace  the  idol  of  the  nation 
would  have  resulted  in  ignominious  disaster. 

Yet,  strange  to  say,  Lord  Palmerston  is 
nowadays  but  scantily  appreciated.  "He 
was  in  no  sense  a  great  man,"  I  was  severely 
assured  not  long  ago,  by  an  ultra-Liberal 
spinster,  in  response  to  a  fervent  eulogy  of 
which  I  had  perhaps  rather  imprudently 
delivered  myself.  "Well,"  I  was  stung  into 
retorting,  "if  not  great  himself,  he  at  least 
contrived  to  render  the  country  great,  which 
is  much  the  same  thing."  My  "advanced" 
neighbour  (it  was  at  dinner)  took  a  sip  of 
iced  water  and  with  a  pitying  shrug  changed 
the  subject. 

Possibly  she  resented  the  irreverent  manner 
in  which  Lord  Palmerston  was  wont  to  treat 
the  Cabinet  rhetoric  of  her  beau  ideal, 
Mr.  Gladstone,  whom  an  unkind  fate  had 
forced  upon  him  as  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 
chequer. "Now,  my  lords  and  gentlemen, 
let  us  go  to  business,"  was  certainly  not  a 
flattering  reception  of  the  excited  harangues 


Lord  Palmerston  5 

with  which,  in  the  role  of  "  reformer-general,  " 
the  right  honorable  gentleman  used  to 
deluge  his  colleagues  after  every  Parlia- 
mentary recess.  But  to  a  premier  whose 
foreign  policy  had  placed  England  on  a 
pinnacle,  the  ' 'parochial  mind"  was  naturally 
somewhat  exasperating,  and  the  "  rises  "  which 
he  took  out  of  his  didactic  subordinate 
rankled  even  more  deeply  than  the  shafts 
of  Lord  Beaconsfield  in  later  years.  But 
of  Lord  Palmerston' s  persiflage  I  shall  have 
more  to  say  under  another  heading ;  for  the 
present  I  will  merely  dwell  on  the  effects  of 
his  renown  upon  his  old  school.  The  fact 
that  the  great  and  popular  Premier  was  a 
Harrow  man  naturally  influenced  the  British 
paterfamilias  not  a  little,  and  many  a  boy 
who  would  otherwise  have  been  sent  to 
royal  Eton  was  consigned  to  the  humbler,  if 
little  less  famous,  foundation  of  John  Lyon, 
yeoman.  Certainly  the  school  itself  was  not 
insensible  to  the  "  Palmerston "  halo,  and  it 
was  a  sight  to  kindle  even  the  sluggish  blood 


6  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

of  the  fourth  form  when  the  jaunty  old 
horseman  on  the  knowing  white  hack  trotted 
into  the  town  straight  from  the  House  of 
Commons,  where,  with  scarcely  an  interval,  he 
had  occupied  a  seat  for  nearly  sixty  years. 

It  was  difficult  to  realize  that  one  in 
every  respect  so  essentially  modern  had 
actually  stood  for  the  University  of  Cam- 
bridge on  the  death  of  Pitt,  was  already  out 
of  his  teens  at  the  battle  of  Trafalgar,  and 
(to  us  Harrovians,  perhaps,  more  marvelous 
than  all)  had  left  Harrow  before  Byron 
came.  Yet  so  lightly  did  his  years  sit 
upon  him  that  an  hour  or  so  later  he  would 
be  seen  briskly  trotting  back  to  London, 
bound  once  more  for  the  treasury  bench, 
which  he  would  only  forsake  in  the  small 
hours  for  one  of  his  historic  gatherings  at 
Cambridge  House.  Brave,  buoyant  old  Pam ! 
Right  well  is  he  portrayed  by  that  noble 
line  in  "Maud": 

M  One  of  the  simple  great  ones  gone 
Who  could  rule  and  dared  not  lie." 


Lord  Russell  7 

We  have  had  many  statesmen  since,  some 
of  them  good  and  true,  but  he  was  the  last 
of  the  old  stalwart  breed  that  made  the  name 
of  England  the  proudest  in  the  universe. 
The  mantle  of  Lord  Palmerston's  popu- 
larity did  not  fall  on  his  successor,  for 
only  a  year  or  two  later  it  was  my  lot  to 
hear  "Johnny  Russell "  hissed  as  he  descended 
the  school  steps  on  speech-day.  The  cause 
was  not  far  to  seek.  Coerced  by  Mr.  Glad- 
stone, he  had  already  taken  the  first  step  in 
that  downward  career  which  Lord  Palmerston 
had  always  predicted  would  follow  his  own 
disappearance  from  the  helm.  "  After  me," 
he  used  to  say,  "Gladstone  will  have  it  all 
his  own  way,  and  then,  mark  my  words, 
there  will  be  the  very  devil."  Regrettable  as 
this  demonstration  against  Lord  Russell  was, 
it  only  reflected  the  prevalent  feeling  that  a 
strong  and  intrepid  ruler  had  been  replaced 
by  palterers  and  experimentalists.  In  his 
earlier  days  Lord  Russell  may  have  rendered 
useful  service  to  his  party,  but  it  is  question- 


8  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

able  whether  without  his  lineage  and  con- 
nection he  would  have  ever  soared  above  an 
under-secretaryship.  Petty-minded  and  un- 
sympathetic as  a  leader,  and  not  too  loyal 
as  a  colleague,  he  passed  out  of  the  political 
world  with  a  damaged  reputation  which  time 
has  not  tended  to  repair.  What  Queen 
Victoria,  the  most  indulgent  of  judges, 
thought  of  him,  her  letter  to  Lord  Aberdeen, 
recently  made  public,  only  too  plainly  shows. 
It  consigns  him  to  a  pillory  from  which  not 
all  the  efforts  of  Whig  piety  can  succeed  in 
extricating  him. 

Lord  Russell,  though  himself  an  old  "  West- 
minster/' had  three  sons  at  Harrow,  the 
eldest  of  whom,  the  eccentric  Lord  Amberley, 
sat  at  one  time  for  Leeds,  where  he  discoursed 
to  his  constituents  on  political  and  social 
questions  with  a  startling  frankness  which 
savored  more  of  Tom  Paine  than  of  the 
"alumnus"  of  a  great  Whig  family.  One 
of  his  addresses  of  a  peculiarly  audacious 
character  received  the  unenviable  distinction 


Lord  Amberley  9 

of  being  censured  by  his  former  school's 
debating  society,  which  carried  unanimously 
the  following  sententious  resolution:  "That 
the  speech  of  Lord  Amberley  at  Leeds  is  a 
disgrace  to  the  school  at  which  he  was  edu- 
cated. ' '  But  it  had,  I  fear,  very  little  effect  on 
the  patrician  Socialist,  who,  but  for  a  prema- 
ture death,  would  have  probably  gone  down 
to  posterity  as  a  second  Citizen  Stanhope. 
Among  his  many  antipathies  was  a  rooted 
repugnance  to  the  ceremonial  of  "  grace  before 
meat,"  and  if  compelled  by  a  cruel  fate  to 
offer  the  hospitality  of  lunch  to  a  clerical 
neighbor,  he  has  been  known  to  pay  an 
advance  visit  to  the  dining-room  and  to  cut 
into  a  leg  of  mutton  in  order  to  convey  the 
impression  that  lunch  had  already  begun. 

Lord  Russell  was  not  the  only  celebrity  in 
those  days  who  received  the  honor  of 
sibilation  at  "speecher,"  for  I  remember  its 
being  accorded  to  that  rashly  investigating 
divine,  Bishop  Colenso,  the  boys  in  this 
instance  again  giving  rough-and-ready  expres- 


io  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

sion  to  the  prevalent  animus  against  the  over- 
critical  prelate.  Poor  Colenso,  who  had  once 
been  a  Harrow  master,  evidently  felt  the 
indignity  keenly,  but  he  bore  it  with  the 
quiet  courage  which  he  displayed  throughout 
the  long  crusade  against  him,  and  made  many 
of  us,  I  think,  feel  somewhat  ashamed  of  our 
savagery.  The  couplets  which  were  concocted 
about  Colenso 's  biblical  exploits  were  legion, 
though  I  remember  none  of  any  particular 
piquancy.  The  following  was  perhaps  the 
most  pointed,  though  the  sneer  in  the  second 
line  at  his  mathematical  acquirements  was 
quite  misplaced,  as  he  had  been  second 
wrangler : 

"There  once  was  a  Bishop  Colenso 
Who  counted  from  one  up  to  ten,  so 
He  found  the  Levitical 
Books  to  eyes  critical 
Unmathematical , 
And  he's  gone  out  to  tell  the  black  men  so !" 

The  allusion  to  speech-day  recalls  a 
curious  incident  in  connection  with  a  very 
different  man,   Lord   Brougham.     As  every 


Lord  Brougham  n 

one  knows,  he  retained  his  extraordinary 
mental  and  bodily  vigour  almost  to  the  last, 
and  when  in  his  eighty-sixth  year  or  there- 
abouts, eagerly  availed  himself  of  an  invitation 
from  the  headmaster  to  be  one  of  the  dis- 
tinguished visitors  on  speech-day.  As  a 
compliment  to  the  veteran  orator,  one  of  the 
monitors  was  told  off  to  recite  a  "purple 
patch"  from  some  perfervid  speech  on  which 
it  was  known  that  he  particularly  prided 
himself.  This  attention  greatly  flattered 
Lord  Brougham's  vanity,  which  had  not 
diminished  with  the  march  of  time,  and  at 
the  conclusion  of  the  recital,  depositing  a 
very  seedy-looking  hat  on  his  chair,  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  vehemently  applauded 
the  interpreter  of  his  bygone  eloquence.  But 
unfortunately  on  resuming  his  seat  he  forgot 
that  it  was  occupied  by  his  hat,  upon  which 
he  sank,  with  very  disastrous  consequences. 
Of  this,  however,  the  expectant  crowd  of 
boys  in  the  school-yard  knew  nothing,  and 
when  at  the  end  of  the  speeches  the  head 


12  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

of  the  school  called  from  the  top  of  the  steps 
for  "  three  cheers  for  Lord  Brougham,"  we 
were  convulsed  to  see  them  acknowledged  by 
an  individual  in  rusty  black  with  an  "old 
clo',"  broken-crowned  hat  almost  resting  on 
a  nose  the  shape  of  which  has  since  been 
emulated  by  Ally  Sloper! 

But  Lord  Brougham's  adventures  did  not 
end  there.  Evidently  highly  gratified  with 
his  reception,  he  passed  on  to  the  head- 
master's house,  where,  with  the  elite  of  the 
visitors,  he  was  bidden  to  lunch.  There, 
however,  his  self-esteem  encountered  a  rude 
shock,  for  the  policeman,  stationed  at  the 
door  to  keep  off  "  loafers  "  and  other  undesir- 
able company,  sternly  asked  the  dilapidated- 
looking  old  person  his  business.  "I  am 
invited  here  to  lunch,"  growled  out  the 
indignant  guest.  "Gammon!"  curtly  re- 
sponded the  guardian  of  the  peace.  "I  am 
Lord  Brougham  !  "  was  the  furious  rejoinder; 
"let  me  pass!"  "Bah!"  contemptuously 
retorted    the    bobby;     "you    wants  me   to 


Speech-day  Adventure  13 

believe  that,  do  yer  ?  Move  on ! "  At  this 
critical  juncture  the  old  lord,  inarticulate  with 
rage,  was  fortunately  espied  by  another 
eminent  guest,  who,  taking  in  the  situation 
at  a  glance,  succeeded  in  allaying  the  sus- 
picions of  the  policeman.  It  would  have 
been  interesting,  by  the  way,  if  on  that 
particular  speech-day  Lord  Palmerston  had 
also  been  present.  How  he  would  have 
enjoyed  the  joke,  though  there  had  been  a 
time  when  he  and  his  Whig  colleagues  had 
found  Brougham  no  joking  matter.  The 
actual  reason  of  the  ex-Chancellor's  ostracism 
by  the  Whigs  in  1834  will,  I  suppose,  like  the 
authorship  of  "  Junius' s  Letters"  and  the  cause 
of  Lord  Byron's  separation,  remain  a  secret 
for  all  time.  A  political  Suwaroff  must 
doubtless  be  an  unpleasant  colleague;  still, 
his  abilities  were  sorely  needed  by  the  Whig 
Government,  and  all  his  intractability  and 
escapades  would  probably  have  been  condoned 
had  not  his  colleagues  been  possessed  of  strong 
evidence  that  he  designed  by  some  traitorous 


14  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

coup  d'etat  to  trip  them  up  by  the  heels 
and  force  himself  into  the  foremost  place. 
Lord  Melbourne's  laugh  never  quite  recovered 
its  gaiety  after  the  famous  interview  in 
which  he  broke  to  Lord  Brougham  the 
astounding  news  that  he  was  not  to  return 
to  the  woolsack.  The  tableau  has  only 
one  parallel — when  Lord  Wellesley  was  in- 
formed by  "  that  cunning  fellow,  my  brother 
Arthur,"  that  he  had  proposed  himself  and 
not  the  more  intellectual  Marquis  as  head  of 
the  Government  in  succession  to  Lord  Gode- 
rich.  They  never  spoke  again.  That  the 
great  Viceroy  who  had  been  as  a  father  to 
the  young  Captain  of  Foot  should  be  sup- 
planted by  him  for  the  blue  ribbon  of 
politics  was  an  offense  which  the  elder 
brother's  outraged  vanity  could  never  forgive. 
Many  of  Lord  Brougham's  amazing  ex- 
ploits can  only  be  accounted  for  by  temporary 
mental  derangement,  and  I  have  been  assured 
on  first-rate  authority  that  at  one  time  during 
his    official    career    he    was    actually    under 


Brougham's  Vanity  15 

restraint  for  the  whole  of  the  long  vaca- 
tion. His  vanity  was  certainly  of  the  type 
that  borders  on  dementia,  and  any  one  who 
reads  the  egregious  egotism  and  self-eulogy 
that  characterize  his  correspondence  with 
Macvey  Napier  must  find  it  difficult  to  asso- 
ciate them  with  proper  mental  equilibrium. 

Of  the  Harrow  masters  at '  this  period, 
three  eventually  became  notable  figures :  the 
headmaster,  Mr.  Westcott,  and  Mr.  Farrar. 
Probably,  as  master  of  Trinity,  Doctor  Butler 
occupies  a  far  more  congenial  position  than 
if  he  adorned  the  episcopal  bench;  at  the 
same  time,  it  is  somewhat  surprising  that 
he  should  never  have  been  given  the  oppor- 
tunity of  refusing  a  miter.  His  predecessor, 
Doctor  Vaughan,  was  three  times  offered  a 
bishopric,  and  in  all  fairness  it  must  be 
acknowledged  that  Doctor  Butler's  services 
to  the  school,  if  from  various  circumstances 
less  conspicuous,  were  fully  as  valuable. 
Doctor  Vaughan  had  one  signal  advantage: 
he   succeeded    a    headmaster    under  whose 


1 6  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

regime  Harrow  was  actually  reduced  to 
less  than  seventy  boys,  while  Doctor 
Butler  had  to  follow  an  administrator 
who  converted  a  period  of  unprecedented 
disaster  into  one  of  glowing  prosperity. 
How  Doctor  Wordsworth  came  to  fail  so 
signally  it  is  very  difficult  to  determine,  but 
doubtless  there  were  various  contributing 
causes.  One,  a  very  curious  one,  was  sug- 
gested to  me  many  years  ago  by  an  old 
Harrovian  at  whose  house  I  was  taken  to 
dine  by  some  friends  with  whom  I  was  staying 
in  the  country.  I  chanced  to  mention 
Harrow,  and  finding  that  he  had  been  there 
under  Wordsworth,  I  asked  if  he  could  assign 
any  specific  reason  for  the  debacle  of  that 
period.  He  explained  that,  although  Words- 
worth was  certainly  not  fitted  for  the  post, 
that  circumstance  did  not  wholly  account 
for  the  mischief;  the  principal  cause,  he 
maintained,  must  be  looked  for  elsewhere. 
Among  the  boys  then  at  Harrow  was  the 
late  Sir  Robert  Peel,  the  brilliant  but  strangely 


Dr.  Christopher  Wordsworth  17 

unballasted  son  of  the  great  statesman.  At 
school,  as  in  his  maturer  days,  Peel  was  not 
too  conspicuous  for  obedience  to  discipline, 
and  being  "sent  up"  for  some  iterated 
defiance  of  rules,  he  was  informed  by  the 
headmaster  that  but  for  his  father  being 
so  illustrious  a  Harrovian  he  would  have 
been  sent  away  on  the  spot;'  as  it  was, 
he  would  have  to  leave  at  the  end  of  the 
quarter,  a  punishment  which  the  boys  eu- 
phemistically described  as  being  "  advised.' ' 
Under  all  the  circumstances,  this  was  an  act  of 
clemency  which  certainly  deserved  parental 
appreciation,  but,  according  to  my  informant, 
Sir  Robert,  with  characteristic  sensitiveness, 
resented  bitterly  what  he  persisted  in  regard- 
ing as  a  personal  affront  to  himself,  and  so 
far  from  recognizing  Wordsworth's  lenity,  he 
vehemently  denounced  him  to  every  minis- 
terial colleague  or  private  acquaintance  who 
either  had  sons  at  Harrow  or  was  intending 
to  send  them  there.  Such  an  attitude  on 
the  part  of  an  all-powerful    Prime  Minister 


1 8  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

(as  Peel  then  was)  could  only  have  one 
result.  Some  boys  were  removed  prema- 
turely, others  who  were  about  to  enter  were 
sent  elsewhere,  and  the  run  on  the  credit  of 
the  school,  already  somewhat  impaired  by 
Wordsworth's  lack  of  qualifications,  set  in 
so  steadily  that  when  Vaughan  arrived  on 
the  scene  there  was  only  a  shabby  residuum 
of  sixty-nine  boys,  which  the  new  headmaster 
seriously  thought  of  sweeping  out  in  order  to 
start  entirely  afresh.  I  cannot,  of  course, 
vouch  for  the  accuracy  of  this  statement,  but  it 
was  made  to  me  in  all  seriousness  by  a  man  of 
undoubted  position  and  veracity,  and  in  view 
of  Sir  Robert  Peel's  extreme  sensibility  to 
anything  that  affected  the  reputation  of  him- 
self and  his  family  it  seems  by  no  means 
improbable.  It  should  be  clearly  understood 
that  there  was  nothing  disgraceful  in  the 
culprit's  offense,  but  though  not  heinous  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  it  was  necessarily  so 
in  those  of  the  headmaster,  who  had  no 
option  but  to  visit  it  with  a  drastic  penalty. 


The  Bishop  of  Salisbury  19 

Doctor  Wordsworth's  inaptitude  as  a  school 
disciplinarian  was  hereditary,  for  I  recollect  his 
son,  the  present  Bishop  of  Salisbury,  taking 
my  form  at  Harrow  as  locum  tenens  for  the 
regular  master  and  presenting  a  deplorable 
picture  of  helpless  uncontrol.  Under  his 
very  nose  every  sort  of  impromptu  recreation 
might  be  seen  in  full  progress,  including  even 
games  of  e'carte,  while  in  a  remoter  part  of 
the  room  a  fight  proceeded  furtively  between 
two  sitting  combatants.  All  the  time  the 
temporary  instructor's  gaze  was  rivetted  on 
his  Virgil,  the  construer's  voice  being  scarcely 
audible  above  the  growing  babel.  I  nar- 
rated this  experience  to  one  of  the  Bishop's 
clergy  not  long  ago.  "Who  would  have 
thought  it  ? "  he  murmured  wistfully.  "  Things 
are  very  different  now.  He  rules  the  diocese 
with  a  rod  of  iron." 

A  schoolboy,  at  all  events  before  he  attains 
monitorial  rank,  mostly  considers  it  de 
rigueur  to  disparage  his  headmaster,  and 
Doctor  Butler  in  his  early  days  earned  a 


20  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

certain  amount  of  unpopularity  by  an  irri- 
tating edict  against  the  use  of  side  trousers 
pockets  which  procured  for  us  a  good  deal  of 
Etonian  "  chaff  "  at  the  annual  match.  But  his 
dignity,  courtesy  and  sense  of  justice  were, 
on  the  whole,  properly  appreciated,  while 
any  boy  under  the  shadow  of  bereavement 
might  always  be  sure  of  his  ready  and  warm- 
hearted sympathy.  Himself  a  most  dis- 
tinguished Harrovian  as  both  scholar  and 
athlete,  he  had  keenly  at  heart  the  fame  and 
honor  of  the  school,  which  has  abundant 
reason  to  regard  his  headmastership  as  one 
of  its  halcyon  epochs.  Had  Lord  Palmerston 
been  in  office  when  Doctor  Butler  retired,  his 
services  would  assuredly  have  received  some 
more  adequate  recognition  than  a  second-rate 
deanery ;  but  such  Harrovians  as  were  then  in 
the  Government  had  presumably  not  sufficient 
influence  with  the  dispenser  of  preferments, 
though  curiously  enough  two  of  Doctor  Butler's 
pupils — the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  the 
Bishop  of  Worcester — have,  with  in  some  re- 


Doctor  Butler  21 

spects  fewer  qualifications  (as  they  will  them- 
selves be  the  first  to  admit),  been  accorded  the 
rank  that  was  withheld  from  him.  As  Nelson 
used  to  remark  under  similar  circumstances, 
"  Such  things  are" ;  but  in  the  Church,  perhaps 
more  than  in  any  other  profession,  we  are 
continually  reminded  that  "the  race  is  not 
always  to  the  swift  nor  the  battle  to  the 
strong.' ' 

"Billy"  Westcott,  as  he  was  irreverently 
nicknamed,  was  more  fortunate,  and  his 
profound  ecclesiastical  learning  no  doubt 
amply  justified  his  promotion  to  episcopal 
rank;  but  if  forty  years  ago  any  one  had 
ventured  to  predict  to  a  Harrow  boy  that 
"Billy"  would  be  Bishop  of  Durham  and 
Doctor  Butler  put  off  with  the  deanery  of 
Gloucester,  the  forecast  would  have  been 
received  with  compassionate  derision. 

At  Mr.  Westcott's  was  a  boy  who  was  also 
destined  to  play  a  conspicuous  yet  very 
different  part  in  the  religious  world,  though 
at  that  time  his  future  sphere  was  probably 


22  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

not  suspected  even  by  himself.  This  was 
the  late  Marquis  of  Bute,  who  was  probably 
the  most  solitary  creature  in  the  whole 
school,  not  from  any  exclusiveness  arising 
from  his  rank,  but  owing  to  an  excessive 
shyness  which  he  retained  more  or  less  in 
after  life.  His  one  frailty  was  a  weakness 
for  jam,  and  his  absorbing  passion,  books.  At 
that  time  he  wrote  rather  promising  English 
verse,  by  dint  of  which  he  gained  the  school 
prize  for  a  poem  on  Edward  the  Black 
Prince,  but  he  apparently  abandoned  verse- 
writing  in  his  maturer  days.  None,  at  least, 
was  ever  given  to  the  public.  In  spite  of 
his  high  rank  and  splendid  prospects,  he 
seemed  as  friendless  in  the  outer  world  as  at 
school,  for  no  one,  I  believe,  ever  came  to 
visit  him  except  once  an  old  nurse  whom 
he  brought  into  the  fourth-form  room  at 
"Bill"  and  showed  the  various  classic 
names  cut  on  the  panels.  Yet  not  half  a 
dozen  years  afterward  this  lonely,  almost 
neglected  youth  was  selected  by  an  ex-Prime 


Dean  of  Canterbury  23 

Minister  as  the  model  for  the  principal  figure 
in  one  of  the  most  renowned  novels  of  the 
century.  The  excellent  qualities  that  marked 
his  subsequent  career  were  to  some  extent 
due  to  the  influence  of  one  of  the  under 
masters,  good  old  John  Smith,  a  man  of 
sterling  character,  if  of  few  attainments,  to 
whom  many  a  boy  has  incurred  a  lifelong 
debt  of  gratitude.  Honest,  God-fearing, 
single-minded,  he  was  in  the  school  a  power  for 
good  the  value  of  which  was  at  the  time  never 
properly  estimated;  and  to  him  might  well 
be  applied  the  beautiful  words  of  Thackeray 
that  "when  he  went  to  heaven  the  angels 
must  have  turned  out  and  presented  arms." 
The  late  Dean  of  Canterbury  was  another 
Harrow  master  who  was  regarded  as  cer- 
tain of  a  bishopric,  though  he,  too,  was 
compelled  to  content  himself  with  a  minor 
distinction.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am 
writing  he  was  doomed,  intellectually  speak- 
ing, to  penal  servitude  with  the  third  "  shell," 
a   form  within  measurable   distance  of  the 


24  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

lowest  in  the  school.  This  ordeal  not  un- 
naturally accentuated  the  picturesque  melan- 
choly that  was  always  his  characteristic, 
but  to  even  the  most  gifted  it  is  not  permissible 
to  ascend  the  scholastic  ladder  at  a  single 
bound,  and  with  the  prestige  of  "  Eric "  and 
the  Cambridge  prize  poem  comparatively 
fresh  upon  him  he  might  very  well  have 
confronted  his  fate  with  more  philosophic 
fortitude.  Mr.  Farrar  presided  over  one 
of  the  snuggest  of  the  small  houses,  where 
he  maintained  excellent  if  somewhat  senti- 
mental relations  with  his  pupils,  whose 
pleasant  lot  was  enviously  regarded  by 
the  inmates  of  certain  more  Spartan 
establishments.  His  melodiously  delivered 
sermons,  always  founded  on  some  more 
or  less  poetical  text,  were  distinctly  popu- 
lar, romantic  imagery  and  literary  quota- 
tions being  more  acceptable  even  to  the 
dullest  schoolboy  than  dry  homilies  on  doc- 
trine or  aggressive  platitudes  on  morals !  In 
due  course  Mr.  Farrar  migrated  to  a  "  large 


Dean  Farrar  25 

house,"  which,  however,  was  only  regarded  as 
a  stepping-stone  to  a  more  important  sphere, 
for  the  headmastership  of  Haileybury  becom- 
ing vacant  very  shortly  after  his  promotion, 
he  offered  himself  as  a  candidate  for  the  post. 
The  contest  practically  lay  between  himself 
and  another  Harrow  master,  Mr.  Bradby, 
who,  although  entering  the  lists  almost  at 
the  eleventh  hour,  succeeded  in  beating  Mr. 
Farrar  by  a  single  vote.  The  disappoint- 
ment was,  under  the  circumstances,  particu- 
larly acute,  and  hardly  compensated  for  even 
by  his  subsequent  election  to  the  mastership 
of  Marlborough.  But  in  the  meantime  he 
had  by  no  means  confined  himself  to  scholastic 
pursuits.  His  books  on  "Language"  had 
already  secured  for  him  the  fellowship  of  the 
Royal  Society,  as  well  asa"  Friday  evening  " 
lectureship  at  the  Royal  Institution,  an 
appointment  always  eagerly  coveted  by  scien- 
tific and  literary  aspirants.  He  had  also 
formed  many  important  literary  friendships, 
of  which  perhaps  the  most  notable  was  that 


26  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

of  Matthew  Arnold,  then  a  resident  at 
Harrow.  The  contrast  between  the  virile 
arch-foe  of  Philistinism  and  his  somewhat 
emotional  neighbor  was  curious  and  at  times 
comical.  Well  do  I  recall  on  a  certain 
occasion  the  great  critic's  expression  of  half- 
contemptuous  amusement  at  one  of  Mr. 
Farrar's  jeremiads  over  the  miseries  of  his 
chosen  lot,  which  concluded  with  the  following 
pathetic  climax:  "As  I  was  returning  from 
chapel  just  now  I  asked  a  small  new  boy, 
with  whom  I  was  walking,  what  he  intended 
to  be,  and  the  boy,  by  way,  I  suppose,  of 
ingratiating  himself,  replied,  'A  Harrow 
master/  'My  boy,'  I  rejoined,  'you  had  far 
better  break  stones  on  that  road.' "  Inas- 
much as  the  reverend  martyr  must  at  that 
time  have  been  making  out  of  this  inferior 
alternative  to  road-making  some  thousands 
a  year,  the  dictum  did  not  sound  convincing, 
and  I  am  afraid  there  was  just  a  tinge  of  good- 
humored  mockery  in  the  laugh  with  which 
Matthew  Arnold  greeted  it. 


A  Pessimistic  Master  27 

But  a  disposition  to  fall  out  with  the 
ordinances  of  Fate,  even  when  not  altogether 
adverse,  was  always  a  characteristic  of 
the  good  Dean.  A  friend  of  mine,  one  of  his 
old  pupils,  met  him  on  the  Folkestone  pier  a 
day  or  two  after  his  acceptance  of  a  West- 
minster canonry  and  genially  tendered  his 
congratulations.  "  Don't  congratulate  me, 
don't  congratulate  me,"  murmured  the  new 
Canon  with  sonorous  dejection  and  a  wistful 
glance  at  the  waves  of  the  Channel.  "  H'm !" 
piped  the  famous  master  of  Balliol  on  being 
told  of  the  incident;  "  I  must  say  I  like  a  man 
to  take  his  promotion  cheerfully."  But  this 
is  an  attribute  which  was  unfortunately 
denied  to  Doctor  Farrar.  His  quarrel  with 
his  publishers  is  a  matter  of  Paternoster  Row 
notoriety.  He  agreed  to  become  our  lord's 
biographer  for  a  stipulated  sum,  which,  con- 
sidering he  was  comparatively  untried 
as  an  ecclesiastical  historian,  was  by  no 
means  illiberal.  The  work,  written  rather 
in    "special    correspondent"     style,    proved 


28  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

a  signal  success,  in  recognition  of  which  the 
publishers  bestowed  an  honorarium  repre- 
sented, I  believe,  by  something  like  four 
figures.  But  the  author  characteristically 
evinced  supreme  dissatisfaction,  and  likewise 
characteristically  ventilated  his  wrongs  in  the 
columns  of  The  Times  with  a  hurricane  of 
uncomplimentary  epithets  at  the  expense  of 
the  unhappy  publishers.  Not  content  with 
this  form  of  protest,  he  imported  his  indigna- 
tion into  the  social  circle  by  setting  before  his 
friends  at  a  dinner  party  a  pudding  ostenta- 
tiously deficient  in  any  kind  of  condiment, 
which  was  denned  in  the  menu  as  "  Publishers' 
Pudding" — a  painfully  elaborated  jest  which, 
needless  to  say,  such  of  his  guests  as  were 
given  to  good  living  regarded  with  tempered 
appreciation. 

Again,  his  non-attainment  of  the.  deanery 
of  Westminster  after  Stanley's  death  was  a 
source  of  much  ill-concealed  disappointment, 
while  his  preferment  to  Canterbury  was 
accepted  with  a  profusion  of  sighs  and  plain- 


Lord  George  Hamilton  29 

tive  dissatisfaction.  Still,  in  spite  of  his 
foibles  (it  would  be  hardly  fair  to  call  them 
defects),  Doctor  Farrar  deserves  to  be  memo- 
rable not  only  as  a  high-minded  and  sym- 
pathetic schoolmaster,  but  also  as  an  ecclesi- 
astical orator  whose  eloquence,  if  a  trifle  too 
ornate,  has  not  been  equalled  since  the  days 
of  Archbishop  Magee.  .  Had  he  been  born  a 
quarter  of  a  century  earlier  and  identified 
himself  more  decidedly  with  church  politics, 
he  would  have  been  a  dangerous  rival  to 
Wilberforce,  who  in  general  acquirements 
was  certainly  his  inferior. 

This  section  must  not  close  without  a 
word  or  two  about  the  Harrovians  of  the 
early  sixties  who  have  since  come  prominently 
before  the  world.  Perhaps  the  most  notable 
among  them  is  Lord  George  Hamilton,  known 
at  Harrow  as  "  Squash"  Hamilton  to  dis- 
tinguish him  from  his  cousin  W.  A.  Baillie 
Hamilton,  who  was  a  member  of  the  same 
house  and  went  by  the  nickname  of  "  Wab," 
a    euphonious    sobriquet    for  which    he  was 


30  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

indebted  to  his  initials.  Lord  George,  though 
like  all  his  family  well  endowed  with 
abilities,  did  not  at  Harrow  give  much 
promise  of  becoming  a  secretary  of  State 
before  he  was  forty.  But  public-school 
"form"  is  very  seldom  to  be  trusted  as  an 
index  of  future  success.  When  we  attempt 
to  trace  the  career  of  the  mere  prize- winning 
prodigy,  he  is  only  too  often  to  be  found  in 
the  ranks  of  the  utterly  undistinguished;  a 
briefless  barrister,  a  country  clergyman  or  a 
humdrum  government  official;  while,  given 
certain  indispensable  conditions,  the  unprom- 
ising idler  who  rarely  soars  above  the  last 
five  places  in  his  form,  and  leaves  school  with 
less  knowledge  of  classics  and  of  his  country's 
history  than  might  be  claimed  by  many  an 
aspiring  artisan,  is  often  revealed  in  after- 
life invested  with  cabinet  rank  and  charged 
with  the  destinies  of  half  an  empire.  But 
in  order  to  achieve  success  of  this  kind 
at  least  three  contributing  factors  are  in- 
dispensable:  family   influence,    good  natural 


Public  School  Prodigies  31 

abilities,  and  the  incentive  of  ambition.  Of 
the  three,  the  first  is  probably  the  most 
important,  and  it  is  no  disparagement  to  the 
late  Secretary  for  India  to  affirm  that 
without  family  influence  it  is  highly  improb- 
able that  he  would  have  become  a  prominent 
minister  of  the  Crown.  He  began  life  as  an 
ensign  in  a  crack  regiment  of  foot,  but  when 
in  1868  a  Conservative  candidate  was  required 
for  the  important  constituency  of  Middlesex, 
Mr.  Disraeli,  with  whom  the  Abercorn  family 
had  always  been  prime  favorites — he  gave 
its  chief  a  dukedom  and  subsequently  im- 
mortalized a  daughter  of  the  house  in  the 
pages  of  u  Lothair " — perceiving  in  Lord 
George  the  type  of  young  politician  which 
always  strongly  appealed  to  his  imagination, 
recommended  that  he  should  be  entered  for 
Parliamentary  honors.  Possibly  but  for  a 
quarrel  between  the  two  Liberal  candidates, 
Lord  Enfield  and  Mr.  Labouchere  (the 
"Labby"  of  to-day),  the  extremely  youthful 
Conservative    candidate — he    was    then    not 


32  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

more  than  twenty-three — would  have  come  off 
second  best.  As  it  was,  he  contrived  to  win 
the  seat  for  his  party,  much  to  the  gratification 
of  Mr.  Disraeli,  who  duly  noted  him  down 
for  subordinate  office,  which,  however,  was 
not  bestowed  till  1874,  the  elections  of  1868 
having  proved  fatal  to  the  Conservative 
Government.  Since  that  time  Lord  George's 
political  career  has  been  continuously  pros- 
perous, and  if  some  of  his  old  schoolfellows 
have  viewed  his  rapid  aggrandizement  with  a 
certain  amount  of  surprise,  it  may  be  truly 
said  that  not  one  of  them  has  grudged  him 
his  success,  while  the  governing  body  has 
testified  its  sense  of  the  distinction  he  has 
conferred  upon  Harrow  by  electing  him  one 
of  their  number,  in  which  capacity  he  worthily 
represents  his  father,  himself  a  governor  for 
nearly  half  a  century. 

With  reference  to  the  Middlesex  contest 
of  1868, 1  believe  it  was  the  last  Parliamentary 
election  at  which,  in  London,  at  all  events, 
personal    "squibs"    were    placarded   on   the 


Lord  Enfield  33 

walls.  One  couplet  I  well  remember.  It 
related  to  Mr.  Labouchere,  who  had  shortly 
before  been  involved  in  some  rather  com- 
ical dispute  abroad  with  a  foreign  baron, 
whose  stature  apparently  was  in  marked 
contrast  to  the  dimensions  of  his  cane,  for 
the  doggerel  ran  thus : 

"Run  away,  Labouchere,  run  away  quick; 
Here  conies  the  small  man  with  the  very  big  stick !" 

Lord  Enfield,  the  other  Liberal  candidate, 
was,  I  think,  the  sitting  member.  At  all 
events,  I  remember  him  addressing  the  Harrow 
electors  from  the  ''King's  Head"  portico  in 
the  general  election  of  1865,  and  being 
interrogated  from  the  top  of  the  "  King's 
Head"  'bus  by  the  well-known  "Squire" 
Winkley,  one  of  the  principal  local  tradesmen 
and  politicians.  The  Squire,  whose  some- 
what inordinate  social  aspirations  did  not 
contribute  to  his  popularity,  was  hailed  by 
the  boys  gathered  outside  the  "  King's  Head  " 
with  a  good  deal  of  derisive  vociferation,  which 
he  rather  imprudently  resented,  for    in  the 


34  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

midst  of  his  harangue  the  unhorsed  omnibus 
began  slowly  to  move  from  before  the  inn 
door,  and  amid  the  ■'  inextinguishable  laugh- 
ter" of  the  crowd  and  the  frantic  gesticula- 
tions of  the  intrusive  politician  he  was  con- 
veyed to  a  distance  whence  his  eloquence 
was  no  longer  audible.  His  pretensions  were 
certainly  rather  ludicrous.  To  his  residence 
(over  his  shop)  he  gave  the  sonorous  name 
of  "  Flambards,"  and  it  was  always  understood 
(though,  I  dare  say,  without  any  real  founda- 
tion) that  his  sobriquet  of  "  Squire"  arose 
from  his  having  invested  himself  with  that 
title  during  a  holiday  tour.  Some  travelling 
acquaintance  (the  story  went)  to  whom  he 
had  thus  magnified  himself,  happening  one 
day  to  come  to  Harrow,  bethought  him  of 
his  fellow  traveller,  and  seeing  at  the  station 
an  old  hawker  with  a  donkey-cart  asked  him 
if  he  could  tell  him  where  Squire  Winkley 
of  Flambards  lived.  "What!"  exclaimed 
the  old  hawker,  "my  damned  proud  nevy? 
Why,  over  his  shop,  of  course,  in  the  High 


A  Local  Celebrity  35 

Street ! "  Another  legend  about  him,  even 
less  credible,  was  that  he  had  asked  Doctor 
Vaughan,  in  recognition  of  some  function  he 
fulfilled  in  connection  with  the  school,  if 
he  might  wear  a  cap  and  gown.  "That's  as 
you  like,"  was  the  discouraging  answer. 
Nothing  daunted,  the  Squire  then  asked  if 
the  boys  might  touch  their  hats  to  him. 
"  That's  as  they  like,"  the  Doctor  again 
replied,  with  contemptuous  suavity.  But, 
however  apocryphal  the  story,  it  had  a 
certain  vitality,  for  the  Squire  was  almost 
invariably  greeted  by  the  boys  with  the 
salutation  which  he  was  reported  to  have 
so  vainly  courted,  but  in  such  a  marked 
spirit  of  mockery  as  to  drive  the  recipient 
almost  frantic  with  affronted  dignity. 
The  Squire  also  served  not  infrequently 
as  a  target  for  pea-shooters  from  the  windows 
of  masters'  houses  adjoining  Flambards. 
On  one  occasion,  when  in  solemn  conclave 
with  some  one  he  had  buttonholed  in  the 
street,  a  deftly  directed  pea  from  an  unseen 


36  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

marksman  suddenly  and  sharply  hit  him  on 
the  cheek.  I  happened  to  be  close  by,  and 
shall  never  forget  the  outraged  air  with 
which  he  complained  to  a  passing  master 
of  having  been  "  shamefully  assaulted  in  the 
public  street  while  in  confidential  conver- 
sation with  a  mutual  friend  of  myself  and 
the  Earl  of  Clarendon. "  The  master,  as 
in  duty  bound,  professed  indignation  and 
sympathy,  but  the  culprit,  who  was  perhaps 
not  too  diligently  sought  for,  was  never 
discovered. 

The  Earl  whose  name  had  lent  such  impres- 
siveness  to  the  Squire's  complaint  had 
three  sons  at  Harrow,  all  of  whom  subse- 
quently made  their  mark.  The  eldest,  the 
present  Lord  Clarendon  (then  Lord  Hyde), 
is  Lord  Chamberlain,  and,  had  his  bent  been 
more  political,  might  fairly  have  aspired  to 
high  ministerial  office.  The  second  son,  the 
late  Colonel  George  Villiers,  was  an  accom- 
plished soldier  and  diplomat,  and  the  youngest 
brother,    Mr.    Francis    Villiers,    occupies    a 


Lord  Tweedmouth  37 

highly  important  post  in  the  permanent 
department  of  the  Foreign  Office.  All  these 
were  members  of  Edwin  Vaughan's  house, 
which  harbored  most  of  the  "  patricians," 
especially  those  from  the  Emerald  Isle, 
where  Mrs.  Edwin  Vaughan,  an  extremely 
charming  woman,  had  many  connections. 
Several  of  the  "  young  Vaughanites " 
became  in  due  course  deservedly  popular 
Irish  landlords,  notably  the  late  Lord 
Caledon,  a  Household  Cavalry  officer  of 
the  best  type,  soldierly,  straightforward  and 
unassuming,  who  retained  throughout  life 
the  genuineness  and  simplicity  that  char- 
acterized him  as  a  Harrow  boy. 

Another  embryo  politician  who  gave  little 
promise  of  attaining  cabinet  rank  was  Edward 
Majoribanks,  now  the  second  Lord  Tweed- 
mouth,  who  became  one  of  the  most  adroit 
and  diplomatic  of  party  whips  and  occu- 
pied the  post  of  Lord  Privy  Seal  in  the  last 
Liberal  administration.  At  Harrow  he  was 
chiefly  conspicuous  for  a  ready  plausibility 


38  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

which,  if  unappreciated  by  his  pastors  and 
masters,  has  rendered  him  excellent  service 
in  the  work  of  party  management;  nor  did 
he  reveal  much  promise  at  Christ  Church, 
where  he  belonged  to  a  famous  set  more 
remarkable  for  social  than  scholastic  achieve- 
ments, and  whence  he  withdrew,  like  his 
ex-chief,  Lord  Rosebery,  without  the  adorn- 
ment of  a  degree,  owing  to  a  difference  with 
Dean  Liddell  concerning  the  amount  of 
respect  due  to  college  statuary.  But  to 
a  "gilded  youth"  of  Great  Britain  such  a 
contretemps  is  of  very  little  consequence. 
Having  sown  his  wild  oats,  harmlessly  enough, 
Mr.  Majoribanks  betook  himself  to  plowing 
the  political  furrow  with  a  vigor  and  dex- 
terity which  a  double  first-class  would  prob- 
ably have  considerably  impaired. 

Among  ecclesiastics,  Harrow  of  that  day 
can  boast  a  noteworthy  representative  in 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury;  while  to 
the  law  it  gave  Mr.  Justice  Ridley,  Sir 
Francis  Jeune,  the  late  Recorder  of  London 


Archbishop  of  Canterbury  39 

and  the  present  Lord  Advocate.  The  Arch- 
bishop is,  again,  an  instance  of  the  "  un- 
expected. "  At  Harrow  he  displayed  no 
special  ability,  and  though  compelled  by 
an  untimely  accident  to  content  himself  at 
Oxford  with  a  "  pass  "  degree,  his  previous  uni- 
versity record  had  scarcely  augured  any  con- 
spicuous achievement  in  the  honor  schools. 
Nevertheless,  he  revealed  as  an  undergraduate 
certain  valuable  qualities  which  strongly 
impressed  Archbishop  Tait,  whose  only  son 
was  one  of  his  most  intimate  college  friends. 
The  Archbishop,  who  wisely  accounted  in- 
gratiatory  tactfulness  and  sound  judgment 
more  important  traits  in  a  modern  English 
ecclesiastic  than  mere  scholarly  attainments, 
however  brilliant,  quickly  recognized  that 
the  young  clergyman  was  not  only  calculated 
to  render  him  excellent  service  as  a  lieutenant, 
but  in  process  of  time  also  to  figure  with  credit 
and  influence  in  the  high  places  of  the  Church. 
Nor  was  Doctor  Tait  the  only  personage  who 
formed   a   favorable   opinion   of  young   Mr. 


40  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

Davidson.  Queen  Victoria,  who  had  an 
early  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted 
with  him,  was  equally  prepossessed,  with  the 
result  that  at  the  age  of  only  thirty-five  he 
was  awarded  the  much-coveted  deanery  of 
Windsor,  in  which  he  earned  the  esteem 
and  appreciation  of  the  sovereign  in  a  higher 
degree  than  had  been  the  case  with  any 
previous  occupant  of  the  office,  excepting, 
perhaps,  Dean  Wellesley.  His  subsequent 
advancement  has  been  invariably  attended 
with  an  increase  of  reputation,  and  by  his 
promotion  to  the  primacy  he  has  succeeded 
in  winning  for  his  old  school  an  honor  which, 
however  little  anticipated  in  his  days  of 
pupilage,  is  universally  admitted  to  be  com- 
pletely justified.  Probably  his  fine  tact  and 
delicacy  of  feeling  were  never  more  felicitously 
exercised  than  on  the  occasion  of  his  enthrone- 
ment at  Canterbury,  when  his  graceful  tribute 
to  his  old  master,  Dean  Farrar,  who  was 
present  at  the  ceremony,  must  have  been 
particularly  soothing  to  the  veteran  whom 


Mr.  Justice  Ridley  41 

he  had  so  signally  distanced.  It  is  note- 
worthy that  during  the  last  fifty  years 
Harrow  has  furnished  two  primates:  one  in 
the  person  of  Doctor  Longley,  a  former 
headmaster,  the  other  Doctor  Davidson,  an 
"old  boy";  but  before  the  latter 's  elevation 
no  Harrovian  proper  had,  I  believe,  attained 
the  highest  honors  of  the  Church. 

Harrow  has  never  been  a  great  recruiting- 
ground  for  the  judicial  bench,  nor  in  that 
respect  has  Eton,  I  believe,  been  much 
more  fertile. 

Mr.  Justice  Ridley,  known  at  Harrow  as 
"  young  Ridley, "  in  contradistinction  to 
his  elder  brother,  the  late  Home  Secretary, 
had,  like  the  latter,  a  singularly  brilliant 
career  both  at  Harrow  and  at  Oxford;  but 
it  is  pretty  certain  that  but  for  his  near 
relationship  to  an  influential  cabinet  minister 
he  would  never  have  been  promoted  to  a  seat 
in  the  high  court,  where,  if  he  has  his  infe- 
riors, he  can  scarcely  claim  to  be  ranked 
among   the   rapidly   diminishing   number  of 


42  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

" strong"  judges.  Had  he  cast  in  his  lot 
exclusively  with  politics  he  might  very  prob- 
ably have  gained  a  considerable  if  not  a  first- 
rate  position,  and  as  a  finished  scholar  and 
distinguished  fellow  of  All  Souls'  he  would 
have  added  luster  to  a  government  which  is 
strangely  deficient  in  university  prestige. 
But  where  an  elder  brother  has  attached  him- 
self to  politics,  the  younger,  even  if  equally 
gifted,  usually  adopts  some  other  career. 
Edward  Ridley,  accordingly,  decided  upon 
the  less  congenial  calling  of  the  law,  and 
after  the  short  Parliamentary  apprenticeship 
which  every  legal  aspirant  considers  indis- 
pensable, was  awarded  an  official  refereeship, 
from  which  he  was  eventually  advanced  to  a 
puisne  judgeship. 

It  is  a  curious  circumstance  that  both  these 
brilliant  brothers  should  in  performance  have 
fallen  so  far  short  of  their  early  promise.  The 
effacement,  however,  of  the  late  Home  Secre- 
tary must  have  been  due  to  some  other  cause 
than  that  of  inadequate  capacity  for  the  office 


Sir  Francis  Jeune  43 

which  he  held.  Possibly  he  was  not  sufficient- 
ly acceptable  at  court,  and  another  cabinet 
post  of  equal  importance  could  not  be  found 
for  him;  but  it  certainly  was  a  surprise  to 
behold  him  kicked  upstairs  with  the  tinsel 
solatium  of  a  viscount's  coronet,  receiving 
little  better  treatment  than  the  merest 
political  limpet. 

Sir  Francis  Jeune  is  the  eldest  son  of 
the  third  of  that  trio  of  heads  of  houses 
who  were  known  in  Oxford  as  "the  World, 
the  Flesh  and  the  Devil."  In  spite  of  his 
sobriquet,  Doctor  Jeune  became  successively 
Dean  of  Lincoln  and  Bishop  of  Peterborough, 
the  latter  of  which  preferments  he  owed  to 
Mr.  Disraeli,  whose  ecclesiastical  sympathies 
were  with  the  more  moderate  branch  of  the 
Low  Church  party,  to  which  Doctor  Jeune 
belonged.  Francis  Jeune  was  more  pro- 
ficient than  prominent  at  Harrow,  whence 
he  proceeded  to  Balliol,  achieving  there 
considerable  distinction,  which,  however, 
hardly  pointed   to   the   measure   of   success 


44  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

he  has  since  attained  in  the  legal  world. 
Equipped  with  a  Hertford  fellowship,  he 
was  called  to  the  bar,  where  in  his  early  days 
he  very  wisely  did  not  disdain  a  police-court 
brief.  Indeed,  his  tact  and  dexterity  would 
have  qualified  him  for  any  department  of 
advocacy,  though  those  strange  bedfellows, 
ecclesiastical  and  divorce  law,  finally  attracted 
most  of  his  forensic  attention.  But  he  was 
equally  at  home  in  the  highest  tribunals, 
and  I  have  heard  Lord  Selborne,  who  was  not 
prodigal  in  his  compliments  to  counsel,  pay 
a  marked  tribute  to  his  arguments  in  the 
Court  of  Appeal  on  an  occasion  when  he 
was  opposed  by  the  law  officers  of  the  Crown 
and  other  legal  magnates.  As  a  judge, 
though  he  cannot  claim  to  rank  with  such 
predecessors  as  Cresswell,  Wilde  and  Hannen, 
he  discharges  his  functions  with  dignity 
and  credit,  and  being  also  judge  advocate- 
general,  enjoys  the  unique  privilege  of  ex- 
ercising a  triple  jurisdiction:  in  matters 
military,  nautical  and  connubial. 


Sir  Charles  Hall  45 

Sir  Charles  Hall,  known  in  his  house  as 
"  Gentleman"  Hall,  owed  his  eventual 
position  partly  to  his  parentage — his  father 
was  a  vice-chancellor — but  mainly  to  his 
social  qualifications,  which  procured  for 
him  powerful  friends  in  high  places.  His 
knowledge  of  law  was  far  from  profound, 
but  he  had  sufficient  acumen  and  dexterity 
to  enable  him  to  conduct  any  case  intrusted 
to  him  at  least  creditably,  and  to  qualify 
him  in  the  long  run  for  a  silk  gown,  which 
he  wore  with  an  air  of  dignity  and  distinc- 
tion that  was  the  admiration  of  every  lay 
onlooker.  His  manners,  too,  were  as  un- 
exceptionable in  as  out  of  court,  and  un- 
questionably won  for  him  no  small  degree 
of  favor.  With  these  advantages  and  a 
county  seat  in  Parliament  he  was  eminently 
fitted  to  fill  the  post  of  attorney  general  to  the 
heir  apparent,  which  he  did  with  particular 
satisfaction  to  his  illustrious  patron.  The 
recordership  of  London  involved,  however, 
from  a  legal  point  of  view,  far  more  serious 


46  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

responsibilities,  and  when  Sir  Charles  was 
elected  to  the  post  in  preference  to  other 
candidates  of  more  weighty  professional 
attainments  it  was  feared  that  he  might  find 
some  difficulty  in  adequately  sustaining  the 
role  of  a  criminal  judge.  Such,  however,  was 
not  the  case,  and  if  his  court  did  not  quite 
uphold  the  prestige  it  had  acquired  under 
Russell  Gurney,  a  judge  who  certainly  ought 
to  have  adorned  a  superior  bench,  it  more 
than  maintained  the  reputation  handed  down 
by  his  immediate  predecessor.  That  he  found 
the  corporation  duties  attaching  to  his  office 
congenial  I  should  not  like  to  say,  but  he 
fulfilled  them  with  excellent  taste  and  judg- 
ment, though  he  must  have  occasionally 
laughed  in  his  sleeve  at  the  contrast  between 
the  manners  and  customs  of  St.  James's  and 
those  of  the  Guildhall.  However  that  may 
have  been,  he  preserved  unruffled  relations 
with  both  quarters  of  the  town,  as  much 
at  home  with  the  representatives  of  Gog  and 
Magog  as  the  elite  of  Marlborough  House. 


Sir  Charles  Hall  47 

"For  either  sphere  preeminently  fit, 
Whether  with  Prince  consorting  or  with  Cit, 
In  royalty's  saloons  a  radiant  star, 
Or  charming  tradesmen  east  of  Temple  Bar!" 

The  present  Lord  Advocate  was  an  accom- 
plished pupil  of  the  late  Bishop  of  Durham 
(Doctor  Westcott),  to  whom  he  would 
occasionally  cross  over  from  the  House  of 
Commons  and  chat  on  old  times.  At 
Harrow  he  combined  elegance  of  scholarship 
with  considerable  skill  as  a  *racquet-player, 
and  if  he  left  Cambridge  without  having 
quite  maintained  the  promise  of  his  school 
days,  he  carried  away  with  him  more  than 
enough  learning  for  all  the  practical  purposes 
of  his  profession.  His  charm  of  manner  and 
savoir  jaire  have  been  serviceable  allies 
to  the  sound  abilities  which  he  has  always 
displayed  in  the  course  of  a  somewhat  varied 
legal  career,  and  Scotland  may  be  congratu- 
lated on  being  represented  by  a  law  officer 
who  in  culture  and  personal  distinction,  if 
not  in  actual  professional  attainments,  is  a 
worthy  namesake  of  the  illustrious  Mansfield. 


48  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

Of  the  Harrow  cricketers  in  the  early  sixties 
I.  D.  Walker  and  C.  F.  Buller  were,  I  believe, 
the  only  ones  who  afterward  became  really 
famous,  F.  C.  Cobden  belonging  to  a  rather  later 
period.  I.  D.  Walker,  who  in  statu  pupillari 
looked  quite  as  old  as  many  of  the  masters, 
provoked,  I  remember,  considerable  sarcasm 
from  the  Etonians  at  Lord's,  several  of  them 
asserting  that  he  was  a  veteran  smuggled 
back  for  the  purpose  of  the  match,  a  charge 
to  which  Walker's  rather  wizened  countenance 
and  premature  side  whiskers  afforded  some 
color.  " Lord's"  was  in  those  days  much 
less  of  a  " society"  resort  than  at  present. 
The  price  of  admission  to  all  parts  of  the 
ground  did  not  exceed  sixpence;  there  were 
no  stands  (excepting,  of  course,  the  old  M.  C.  C. 
pavilion)  and  very  few  seats,  the  majority  of 
the  spectators  (who  were  unrestricted  by 
ropes)  sitting  on  the  grass,  while  carriages, 
riders  and  pedestrians  mingled  indiscrimi- 
nately under  rather  precarious  conditions. 
The    "  chaff, "    or,    as   the   respective   head- 


C.  F.  Buller  49 

masters  more  ceremoniously  defined  it,  the 
" ironical  cheering,"  was  then  in  full  swing, 
and,  though  amusing  enough  to  the  vocifer- 
ators,  was  a  terrible  ordeal  to  the  players  and 
an  unmitigated  nuisance  to  the  adult  portion 
of  the  assemblage.  To  be  obliged  to  deliver 
a  ball  to  the  strident  accompaniment  of 
"  Bubba-bubba-bowled  "  (I  spell  the  pre- 
liminary exclamation  phonetically)  was  to 
any  boy  with  even  good  nerves  hideously 
disconcerting,  and  it  was  a  profound  relief 
when,  a  climax  of  discord  having  been 
reached,  the  headmasters  succeeded  by  their 
adjurations  before  the  next  match  in  stopping, 
or  at  all  events  in  mitigating,  the  nuisance. 

C.  F.  Buller,  though  less  useful,  was  a  far 
more  brilliant  player  than  Walker.  He  was, 
in  fact,  almost  universally  brilliant,  even  his 
school  work,  when  he  condescended  to  do 
any,  being  no  exception.  He  was  the  son  of 
Sir  Arthur  Buller,  an  ex-Indian  judge,  and 
a  nephew  of  Charles  Buller,  the  promising 
Whig  statesman,  much  of  whose  charm  and 


50  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

talent  he  had  inherited.  Both  his  father 
and  his  uncle  were  pupils  of  Thomas  Carlyle, 
but  Sir  Arthur,  at  all  events,  conveyed  no 
suggestion  of  the  fact.  Like  his  son,  unusu- 
ally handsome  and  distinguished  looking, 
he  had  more  the  air  of  a  Pall  Mall  cynic  than 
of  a  pupil  of  Chelsea's  rugged  sage.  He 
idolized  his  boy,  whom  he  appeared  to  treat 
more  as  a  younger  brother  than  as  a  son,  and 
very  seldom  missed  coming  down  to  see  him 
play.  I  well  recollect  him  sitting  in  the 
little  pavilion  on  the  old  Harrow  ground, 
between  the  steps  of  which  some  nettles 
had  begun  to  intrude  rather  aggressively. 
"  Here,  you  boys ! "  exclaimed  Sir  Arthur 
imperiously  to  some  small  boys  seated  on 
the  steps,  "I  wonder  you  allow  nettles  to 
choke  up  the  place  like  this;  clear  them 
away,  can't  you?"  The  small  boys,  who 
were  engaged  in  vicarious  refreshment,  did 
not  relish  this  haughty  command  from  a 
visitor  and  took  no  notice.  "  Ah  ! "  observed 
Sir    Arthur   with    a   withering   sneer,   "if    I 


C.  F.  Buller  51 

had  said  that  to  Eton  boys  they  would 
have  done  it." 

The  influence  and  prestige  of  C.  F.  Buller  at 
Harrow  can  only  be  compared  to  those 
of  Steerforth  in  "  David  Copperfield.  "  Even 
the  masters  fell  under  his  spell,  and  though 
not  sufficiently  high  in  the  school  to  be 
entitled  to  "find" — i.e.,  to  have  meals  in  his 
own  room — he  was  specially  favored  in  this 
respect  by  his  tutor.  At  football  (which  he 
frequently  played  in  patent  leather  boots)  he 
excelled  as  greatly  as  at  cricket,  while  I  think 
he  was  the  only  schoolboy  on  record  who  has 
accomplished  a  wide  jump  of  twenty-two 
feet.  With  the  gloves,  too,  he  was  invincible, 
and  many  a  braggart  town  "chaw"  who 
thought  to  challenge  his  supremacy  used  to 
retire  from  the  encounter  chastened  and 
unpresentable. 

He  passed  into  the  Second  Life  Guards  (by 
the  way,  he  used  to  say  at  Harrow  that  the 
only  exercise  he  could  not  accomplish  was  to 
ride),  where  his  popularity  and  prestige  were 


52  Harrow  in  the  Early  Sixties 

such  that  his  brother  officers  twice  paid  his 
debts  rather  than  that  he  should  be  lost  to 
the  regiment.  Eventually,  however,  finan- 
cial exigencies  compelled  his  retirement,  and 
in  other  respects  fortune  ceased  to  smile  on 
him,  but  to  all  Harrovians  of  the  early  sixties 
his  name  is  still  one  to  conjure  with,  pre- 
eminent among  the  many  that  will  ever  be 
recalled  with  affectionate  admiration. 


II. 

LAWYERS 


Chief  Baron  Pollock — Edwin  James — Baron  C.  E.  Pollock — 
Lord  Bramwell — Mr.  Justice  Byles — Vice-Chancellor 
Bacon — Lord  Chief-Justice  Cockburn — Lord  Coleridge — 
Lord  Bowen — Lord  Westbury — "Dick"  Bethell — Sir 
George  Jessel — Vice-Chancellor  Malins — Sir  Francis 
Jeune — Lord  Lyndhurst — Lord  Chelmsford — Lord  Chan- 
cellor Cairns. 


II. 

LAWYERS. 

My  first  introduction  to  the  majesty  of 
the  law  was  somewhere  about  the  year  of  the 
Indian  mutiny,  when  as  an  urchin  I  was  taken 
by  my  mother  to  the  Croydon  a'ssizes,  where 
we  occupied  seats  on  the  bench  as  the  guests 
of  Chief  Baron  Pollock,  who  was  the  presid- 
ing judge.  Inasmuch  as  the  Chief  Baron  was 
born  as  far  back  as  1783,  had  taken  his 
degree  as  senior  wrangler  within  a  few  days 
of  Mr.  Pitt's  death,  and  was  called  to  the  bar 
in  the  following  year,  1807,  this  visit  to 
Croydon  constitutes  one  of  my  most  interest- 
ing links  with  the  past.  The  old  judge,  with 
his  deeply  lined  face  and  stately  bearing, 
struck  me  as  profoundly  impressive,  and  in 
aspect  as  a  far  greater  dignitary  than  any  of 
his  judicial  successors  whom  I  chanced  to  see 

55 


56  Lawyers 

in  later  years.  He,  in  truth,  belonged  to  a 
school  of  legal  magnates  which  on  his  retire- 
ment in  1866  became  practically  extinct, 
though  to  some  extent  it  was  represented  by 
such  judges  as  the  late  Lords  Bramwell  and 
Blackburne.  As  every  one  knows,  the  Chief 
Baron  was  the  son  of  King  George  the 
Third's  saddler,  a  highly-respected  royal 
warrant-holder  who  had  good  reason  to  be 
proud  of  his  progeny,  for  another  son  became 
an  Indian  chief  justice,  while  a  third  was 
the  distinguished  field  marshal.  The  latter 
I  remember  once  seeing  on  a  gala  day  at  the 
Royal  Military  Academy,  Woolwich,  when 
Sir  John  Fox  Burgoyne  (the  son  of  the 
general  who  surrendered  in  the  American 
war)  was  also  present,  and  a  more  weather- 
beaten  pair  of  old  warriors  I  have  never 
beheld.  But  the  Chief  Baron  was,  I  be- 
lieve, always  considered  the  ablest  of  the 
three  brothers;  at  all  events,  he  was  the 
most  versatile,  for  besides  being  an  eminent 
lawyer  he  was  no  mean  scientist,  and  a  fre- 


Chief  Baron  Pollock  57 

quent  contributor  to  the  Transactions  of  the 
Royal  Society  almost  to  the  day  of  his  death. 
On  the  occasion  when  I  was  his  juvenile 
guest  at  the  Croydon  assizes,  the  first  case 
he  tried  was,  I  fancy,  a  commercial  one,  in 
which  I  remember  Mr.,  later  Chief  Justice, 
Bovill  took  a  leading  part,  much  to  the  grati- 
fication of  his  venerable  mother,  who  was 
also  an  occupant  of  the  bench.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  "  horse  "  case,  which  turned,  I  imagine, 
on  a  question  of  "  warranty, "  for  I  recollect 
what  Mr.  Fox  used  to  call  the  "  damnable 
iteration  "  of  that  word  by  the  various  counsel 
engaged.  One  of  them,  with  a  peculiarly 
vulgar,  revolting  face,  had  caused  some  amuse- 
ment in  court  by  getting  wedged  with  a 
learned  brother  in  a  narrow  gangway  leading 
to  the  front  row  of  the  bar.  However,  in 
spite  of  his  corpulence  he  contrived  to  squeeze 
himself  triumphantly  through  to  the  array 
of  "  silks,"  among  whom  he  took  his  seat 
with  an  oily  and  peculiarly  impudent  smile. 
Even  the  dignity  derived  from  his  forensic 


58  Lawyers 

attire  was  largely  discounted  by  an  extremely 
"  loud  "  pair  of  black-and-white  check  trousers 
which  prominently  obtruded  themselves  as 
he  rose  to  address  the  court.  "  Who  is  that 
unpleasant-looking  barrister?"  inquired  my 
mother  sotto  voce  of  the  Chief  Baron  as  this 
ornament  of  the  inner  bar  began  to  harangue 
the  jury  with  the  voice  and  demeanor  of  a 
Smithfield  butcher.  "That,"  replied  the 
Judge  in  a  subdued  tone  of  supreme  disdain, 
"is  Edwin  James."  Great  heavens!  How 
he  bellowed,  and  brandished,  and  buttered 
the  jury,  and  "my  lud-ded"  the  Judge, 
every  now  and  again  glancing  leeringly 
round  the  court  for  admiration  from  the 
bystanders,  who  appeared  to  regard  him  as  a 
veritable  oracle  !  But  to  a  child  like  myself 
he  presented  an  element  of  odiousness  which 
for  a  long  time  prejudiced  me  against  every 
one  connected  with  his  particular  vocation. 

Edwin  James  is  a  name  of  little  significance 
nowadays ;  nevertheless,  his  career  is  unparal- 
leled in  the  annals  of  English  advocacy.      An 


Edwin  James  59 

outcast  from  his  father's  house  before  he  was 
twenty,  he  perceived  in  the  Central  Criminal 
Court  a  promising  market  for  his  master- 
talent — matchless  and  indomitable  effrontery. 
In  these  days,  even  if  successful  in  his  own 
line  of  practice,  an  advocate  of  such  an  order 
would  find  the  prizes  of  the  profession  relent- 
lessly withheld  from  him,  but  I  have  heard 
on  unimpeachable  authority  that  when  the 
crash  came  which  culminated  in  the  revoca- 
tion of  his  patent  as  queen's  counsel  and 
his  expulsion  from  the  bar,  the  high  office  of 
solicitor-general  was  actually  within  Edwin 
James's  reach !  As  M.  P.  for  so  important 
a  constituency  as  Marylebone,  he  had,  no 
doubt,  established  claims  on  the  Liberal 
Government  which  he  was  the  last  man  not 
to  urge  in  and  out  of  season,  but  even  if  the 
appointment  had  been  made  it  would  have 
raised  such  a  clamor  of  protest  from  the 
majority  of  the  bar  that  the  Government 
would  probably  have  found  it  advisable 
to  withdraw  it.     " Unprofessional  conduct" 


60  Lawyers 

was  the  immediate  cause  of  James's  down- 
fall, but  he  must  have  long  been  looked 
upon  with  suspicion  by  the  benchers  of  his 
Inn,  for,  almost  contrary  to  all  precedent,  on 
his  obtaining  "  silk  "  they  refused  to  elect  him 
a  bencher.  Nowadays,  the  number  of  "  silks  " 
is  so  largely  increased  that  the  non-election 
to  the  Inn  Bench  of  a  newly  created  king's 
counsel  conveys  no  sort  of  reflection;  but  at 
that  time  it  was  otherwise,  and  the  only 
similar  instance  of  exclusion  was  that  of 
Abraham  Hayward,  which,  however,  was 
solely  due  to  the  personal  animosity  of  Mr. 
Roebuck,  and  implied  no  disapprobation  of 
the  candidate's  professional  conduct. 

It  has  always  been  a  mystery  how  Edwin 
James  got  into  those  pecuniary  difficulties 
which  were  the  cause  of  his  professional 
irregularities.  His  practice,  though  not  of 
the  first  magnitude,  had  latterly  amounted 
to  quite  £7,000  a  year,  and  his  personal 
habits,  as  Thackeray  pointed  out  in  one  of 
the  "Roundabout  Papers,"  were  apparently 


A  Mysterious  Spendthrift  61 

the  reverse  of  extravagant.  He  certainly- 
lived  in  Berkeley  Square,  but  the  house  was 
a  small  one  and  well  within  his  professional 
income.  Either  he  gambled  recklessly  or 
had  to  meet  some  persistent  drain  upon  his 
resources  which  never  came  before  the  eyes 
of  the  world.  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  though 
avoiding  a  similar  disgrace,  presented  very 
much  the  same  enigma.  In  the  receipt  of 
princely  gains  from  his  portraits,  and  with  no 
outwardly  lavish  expenditure,  he  astonished 
society  by  dying  practically  insolvent.  I 
remember  two  characteristic  stories  of  Edwin 
James's  consummate  impudence.  At  one  time 
he  lived  in  some  West  End  chambers  of 
which  the  unfortunate  landlord  could  never 
succeed  in  obtaining  any  rent.  At  last  he 
had  recourse  to  an  expedient  which  he  hoped 
might  arouse  his  tenant  to  a  sense  of  his 
obligations.  He  asked  him  if  he  would  be  kind 
enough  to  advise  him  on  a  little  legal  matter 
in  which  he  was  concerned,  and,  on  James  ac- 
quiescing, drew  up  a  statement  specifying  his 


62  Lawyers 

own  grievance  against  the  learned  counsel 
and  ask  him  to  state  what  he  considered  the 
best  course  for  a  landlord  to  take  under  such 
conditions.  The  paper  was  returned  to  him 
the  next  morning  with  the  following  sentence 
subjoined:  "  In  my  opinion,  this  is  a  case 
which  admits  of  only  one  remedy — patience. 
Edwin  James." 

The  other  story  is  indicative  of  his  methods 
in  court.  He  was  engaged  in  some  case 
before  Lord  Chief  Justice  Campbell,  and  in 
attempting  to  take  an  altogether  inadmis- 
sible line  with  a  witness  was  stopped 
by  the  Judge,  who  was  the  last  man 
to  allow  any  irregularities  in  the  conduct  of 
a  case.  James  accepted  Lord  Campbell's 
interposition  with  a  very  ill  grace,  and  the 
Judge,  being  of  the  same  political  party,  took 
the  opportunity,  when  summing  up,  of  soft- 
ening the  remarks  he  had  found  it  necessary 
to  make  in  reference  to  James's  "  try  on. " 
"You  will  have  observed,  gentlemen,"  he 
said  to  the  jury,  "  that  I  felt  it  my  duty  to 


Sublime  Effrontery  63 

stop  Mr.  Edwin  James  in  a  certain  line  which 
he  sought  to  adopt  in  the  cross-examina- 
tion of  one  of  the  witnesses,  but  at  the  same 
time  I  had  no  intention  to  cast  any  reflection 
on  the  learned  counsel,  who  I  am  sure  is  known 

to  you  all  as  a  most  able "     Before  the 

Judge  could  proceed  any  further  James  started 
to  his  feet  and  in  a  voice  of  contemptuous 
defiance  exclaimed:  "My  Lud,  I  have  borne 
with  your  ludship's  censure;  "spare  me  your 
ludship's  praise !  " 

After  being  disbarred,  Edwin  James 
retreated  to  America,  and,  before  the  facts 
could  be  properly  ascertained  by  the  author- 
ities there,  managed  to  get  called  to  the  New 
York  bar.  But  somehow  or  other  he  proved 
a  complete  failure,  and  before  long  returned 
to  England,  where  he  made  a  determined 
attempt  to  get  his  decree  of  "disbarral" 
rescinded  by  the  Inns  of  Court.  His  efforts, 
however,  were  fruitless,  the  array  of  profes- 
sional delinquencies  that  could  be  established 
against  him  being  far  too  formidable,  and  he 


64  Lawyers 

then  became  for  a  time  common-law  clerk 
to  some  Old  Bailey  solicitor,  but  not  pros- 
pering in  that  capacity  he  finally  took  a  room 
in  Old  Bond  Street,  where  he  invited  the 
public  to  consult  him  on  legal  matters,  by 
means  of  a  white  marble  tablet  in  the  door- 
way, on  which  he  pompously  described  him- 
self as  "Mr.  Edwin  James,  Jurisconsult." 
But  this  resource  also  failed.  Even  had  he 
been  a  competent  lawyer,  his  clients  would 
probably  have  not  been  too  numerous,  but  in 
point  of  fact  his  legal  attainments  were  of  the 
slightest,  "common  jury  rhetoric"  having 
been  his  main  forensic  stock  in  trade,  any 
law  that  his  case  might  involve  being  got  up 
as  necessity  demanded,  merely  to  serve  the 
particular  occasion.  I  saw  him  once,  emerg- 
ing from  his  Bond  Street  lair,  seedy,  ill-shaven, 
sodden-faced,  in  a  coat  in  which  rusty  brown 
had  almost  supplanted  the  original  black, 
and  a  hat  of  that  greasy  sheen  peculiar  to 
the  headgear  of  the  old-fashioned  sheriff's 
officer.     Poor  wretch !  the  curtain  was  then 


A  Judicial  Luncheon  65 

about  to  fall  on  his  tragedy,  for  such  surely 
his  life  must  have  been  even  at  its  apparent 
heyday.  Very  soon  afterward  he  died  almost 
a  pauper's  death,  pointing  a  moral  such  as 
happily  few  public  men  have  ever  supplied, 
at  all  events  in  this  country. 

But  to  revert  to  Chief  Baron  Pollock.  At 
the  mid-day  adjournment  of  the  court  he 
entertained  us  at  luncheon  at  the  Judge's 
lodgings,  a  repast  which  is  impressed  on  my 
memory  by  a  rather  ludicrous  incident.  In 
those  days  claret  was  still  a  negligible  quan- 
tity, at  any  rate  in  old-fashioned  cellars, 
the  staple  vintages  being  almost  invariably 
port  and  sherry.  Whether  the  Chief  Baron's 
libations  of  port  in  his  northern  circuit  days 
had  sated  him  with  that  beverage  I  cannot 
say,  but  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing 
he  had  become  a  great  patron  and  connois- 
seur of  sherry,  and  on  the  dining-room  side- 
board was  ranged,  I  remember,  a  long  and 
imposing  row  of  decanters,  each  representing 
some  choice  example   of   his  favorite   wine. 


66  Lawyers 

My  mother,  however,  had  forgotten  or 
was  unaware  of  her  host's  hobby,  and  in 
response  to  his  inquiry,  "  Which  wine  will 
you  take?"  (meaning  Amontillado  or  Solera 
or  Vino  de  Pasto  and  so  forth),  she  unluckily 
expressed  a  preference  for  port.  "  I  am 
afraid, "  replied  the  Judge,  with  just  a  suspi- 
cion of  polite  irony,  "  that  port  is  a  wine  with 
which  I  am  wholly  unprovided,  though  I 
can  offer  you  every  kind  of  sherry. "  My 
poor  mother,  to  whom  wine  of  any  sort  was 
really  a  matter  of  supreme  indifference,  was 
covered  with  confusion,  and  attempted  to 
atone  for  her  blunder  by  enthusiastically 
declaring  for  cold  water.  With  reference  to 
connoisseurship  of  wine,  I  will  venture,  en 
passant,  on  two  little  anecdotes  which  are 
instructive  in  their  way.  Not  long  ago  I 
was  staying  in  a  country  house  the  host  of 
which  was  possessed  of  an  extremely  recherche 
cellar.  It  was  about  Christmas  time,  and 
he  good-naturedly  decided  to  entertain  some 
of  his  less  affluent  neighbors  who  were  not 


A  Startling  Choice  67 

much  given  to  feasting,  among  them  the 
elderly  unmarried  daughters  of  a  deceased 
clergyman.  At  dessert  the  butler,  with  an 
inflection  of  compassionate  condescension  in 
his  pompous  voice,  accosted  one  of  these 
good  ladies,  who  was  my  dinner  neighbor, 
with  the  formidable  interrogation:  "Port, 
sherry,  claret,  or  Madeira?"  The  embar- 
rassed guest,  whose  aspect  suggested  weak 
negus  as  the  acme  of  her  alcoholic  aspirations, 
replied  after  a  moment  of  tremulous  deliber- 
ation: "A  little  Marsala,  please."  For- 
tunately the  answer  did  not  reach  our  host's 
ears,  but  the  indignant  butler  had  consider- 
able difficulty  in  controlling  himself.  How- 
ever, with  a  supreme  effort  he  swallowed  his 
ire  and,  disdaining  to  offer  any  explanation, 
merely  repeated  with  aggrieved  emphasis  the 
solemn  formula,  "Port,  sherry,  claret,  or 
Madeira?"  The  terrorized  spinster  could 
only  gurgle  something  which  her  tormentor 
took  for  a  refusal,  and  he  stalked  on  in 
offended  majesty,  casting  a  reproachful  glance 


68  Lawyers 

at  his  master  for  exposing  him  to  the  affronts 
of  local  Philistines.  The  other  anecdote  is 
commended  to  would-be  judges  of  '47  port. 
On  the  outskirts  of  a  small  country  village 
there  lived  an  old  bachelor  who,  like  Chief 
Baron  Pollock,  had  in  his  later  days  forsaken 
the  vintage  of  his  youth  for  wines  of  a  lighter 
quality.  He  had  formerly  been  a  North 
Country  merchant  or  manufacturer,  but  on 
relinquishing  business  had  migrated  to  a 
southern  county.  Some  years  after  his  retire- 
ment he  received  one  afternoon  an  intima- 
tion from  some  old  business  friends  that  they 
were  in  his  neighborhood  and  should  take 
the  liberty  of  presenting  themselves  at  dinner. 
He  immediately  sent  for  his  butler  and 
apprised  him  of  the  coming  guests,  desiring 
him  to  be  very  particular  about  the  wifie,  as 
they  were  great  connoisseurs  who  in  former 
days  had  always  accorded  the  highest  praise 
to  his  cellar.  "  Very  good,  sir, "  said  the 
butler ;  "  but  what  are  we  to  do  about  port  ? 
There  is  not  a  bottle  in  the  cellar. "     "  I  had 


A  Warning  to  Connoisseurs  69 

forgotten  the  port, "  said  the  host  in  conster- 
nation ;  "  and  now  I  think  of  it,  they  vised,  like 
me,  to  be  great  port-drinkers.  What  is  to 
be  done?"     "Well,   sir,"  replied  the  butler, 

"  there  is  not  time  to  send  to ,"  naming 

the  county  town,  "but  I  think  I  might  be 

able  to  borrow  a  bottle  from  Squire  X 's 

cellar."  The  Squire  being  a  great  "layer- 
down"  of  vintage  port,  the  host  felt  con- 
siderably reassured,  and  wrote  a  short  note, 
explaining  the  circumstances,  which  the 
butler  was  to  take  over  to  the  Squire's  house, 
at  no  great  distance.  Various  engagements 
prevented  him  from  seeing  his  butler  again 
before  dinner,  but  he  felt  complete  confidence 
in  Squire  X — — 's  cellar,  and  consequently 
heard  without  the  least  trepidation  both 
of  his  guests  pronouncing  for  port  as 
their  post-prandial  libation.  "Ah!"  ex- 
claimed one  of  them  with  an  expression 
of  discriminating  gusto,  as,  after  holding 
his  glass  up  to  the  light,  he  took  his 
first  sip,    "I  see  that  your  port   maintains 


70  Lawyers 

its  old  reputation."  "More  than  maintains 
it,"  observed  the  other  in  a  long-drawn  tone 
of  supreme  satisfaction.  "You  had  good 
port  in  the  old  days,  but  this  beats  it  hollow. 
There  is  only  one  word  for  it — 'superb*; 
'47,  I  suppose?"  "I  believe  so,"  carelessly 
remarked  the  host,  "but  I  have  given  up 
drinking  port  myself;  still,  I  like  to  have  a 
tolerable  glass  for  my  friends."  The  bottle 
was  finished  amid  increased  encomiums,  and 
in  due  course  the  guests  departed. 

"  Did  the  Squire  send  any  note  with  that 
port,  Watkins?"  inquired  the  host  of  his 
butler  the  next  morning.  "  I  am  glad  it 
turned  out  so  well." 

"  So  am  I,  sir,"  observed  the  butler  with  a 
curious  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "though  it  was 
none  of  the    Squire's,  after  all." 

"Not  the  Squire's?"  rejoined  his  master. 
"  Where  did  it  come  from,  then  ? " 

"It  came  from  the  'Spotted  Dog,'  sir," 
replied  the  man  triumphantly,  naming  the 
village  "public."     "The  Squire  had  gone  up 


Baron  C.  E.  Pollock  71 

to  London  till  Monday,  and  they  couldn't 
get  at  the  cellar;  but  gentlemen  as  drinks 
port  ain't  always  the  judges  they  think  they 
are,  so  I  just  chanced  it,  and  on  my  way 
back  got  a  bottle  at  the  '  Spotted  Dog '  for 
half  a  crown." 

Chief  Baron  Pollock  only  missed  by  a  year 
or  two  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his  son 
Charles  raised  to  the  bench  of  his  old  court. 
Charles  Pollock — "the  last  of  the  barons,"  as 
he  was  called,  when  by  the  death  of  Baron 
Huddleston  he  became  the  solitary  survivor 
of  the  old  exchequer  judges  —  though  not 
equal  to  his  father  in  ability,  was  by  no  means 
a  specimen  of  those  judges  who  derive  their 
elevation,  according  to  the  well-known  legal 
witticism,  "  per  stirpes  et  non  per  capita." 
He  was  a  capable  if  not  a  profound  lawyer, 
and  discharged  his  duties  not  only  with 
fastidious  impartiality,  but  with  a  quiet 
dignity  which  has  of  late  been  far  too  rare 
in  the  high  court.  At  the  same  time  he 
was  by  no  means   deficient  in   a   sense   of 


7  2  Lawyers 

humor,  and  would  on  occasion  relax  his 
austerity  with  sallies  of  a  much  better  quality 
than  is  nowadays  associated  with  legal 
jesters.  One  of  them,  at  least,  is  worthy  of 
commemoration. 

The  Baron  was  trying  a  case  which 
turned  on  what  constituted  "  necessaries " 
for  a  minor,  the  leader  on  one  side  being  a 
rather  decrepit  and  elderly  Q.  C.  whose 
marriage  to  the  somewhat  mature  daughter 
of  a  patrician  house  had  occasioned  a  certain 
amount  of  ironical  comment  on  the  part  of 
his  learned  friends,  while  the  opposing  party 
was  captained  by  a  "silk"  who,  although 
younger  than  his  antagonist,  had  decid- 
edly the  advantage  of  him  in  the  matter 
of  olive  branches.  The  question  for  deci- 
sion was  whether  a  piano  constituted  a 
"necessary,"  the  childless  old  benedict  argu- 
ing that  it  was,  and  his  opponent,  the 
paterfamilias,  insisting  that  it  was  not. 
At  last  the  former,  by  way  of  clinching 
his    contention,     began    to     allude     rather 


A  Judicial  Jest  73 

pompously  to  his  married  experiences,  a 
subject  he  was  very  fond  of  introducing  on 
account  of  the  augustness  of  his  alliance. 
"My  lord/'  he  ostentatiously  urged,  "as  a 
married  man  I  can  speak  with  some  authority 
on  these  matters,  and  in  my  experience  I 
have  always  understood  that  a  piano  was  a 
*  necessary '  for  any  one  in  the  position  which 
the  minor  in  this  case  occupies."  Hereupon 
the  "  paterfamilias "  counsel  cruelly  inter- 
rupted with:  "My  lord,  my  learned  friend 
boasts  of  his  married  experiences,  but  I 
must  remind  him  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  only  entered  upon  the  connubial  state 
comparatively  recently,  whereas  I,  my  lord, 
have  not  only  been  married  nearly  twenty 
years,  but  am  the  father  of  a  large 
family;  while  in  that  respect,  so  far  as 
I  am  aware,  the  union  to  which  my 
learned  friend  refers  with  so  much  com- 
placency has  not  proved  equally  fortunate." 
"My  lord,"  furiously  rejoined  the  other, 
"I   must   really   protest   against   my   friend 


74  Lawyers 

making  these  offensive  remarks.     I  request 

your  lordship "   he  was  continuing   with 

accelerated  wrath  as  the  titter  in  court 
became  more  pronounced,  when  Baron  Pol- 
lock, bending  over  from  the  bench,  threw 
oil  on  the  troubled  waters  by  quietly  inter- 
fering with,  ''Gentlemen,  I  think  we  had 
better  confine  ourselves  to  the  issue  in  the 
present  case." 

Baron,  afterward  Lord,  Bramwell  was  one 
of  the  small  group  of  "strong"  judges  whose 
presence  on  the  bench  was  cordially  appre- 
ciated by  every  one  except  the  meritorious 
criminal.  In  appearance  he  was  curiously 
like  old  J.  B.  Buckstone,  of  the  Haymarket 
Theater,  whose  capacity  for  comedy  he  also 
to  some  extent  shared.  An  amusing  touch 
of  this  quality  was  revealed  on  one  occasion 
at  a  certain  sporting  city  where  the  assizes 
happened  to  synchronize  with  the  annual 
race  meeting.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Judge 
had  no  isthmian  proclivities,  but  many  mem- 
bers  of  the  bar  then   on   circuit  being  ex- 


Lord  Bramwell  75 

tremely  anxious  to  see  the  race  of  the 
day,  which  always  created  widespread  inter- 
est, one  of  the  leading  counsel  engaged  in 
a  case  then  in  progress  asked  the  Judge  to 
allow  a  short  adjournment.  Baron  Bram- 
well, himself  nothing  loth,  inquired  of  the 
jury  whether  they  had  any  objection  to  the 
adjournment  asked  for,  but  after  consulta- 
tion with  his  colleagues  the  'foreman  inti- 
mated that  the  majority  of  them  had  come 
from  a  distance  and  were  anxious  that  the 
case  should  not  be  interrupted,  in  order  that 
they  might  get  back  to  their  homes,  if  pos- 
sible, that  evening. 

The  Judge,  who  in  the  heart  of  a  sport- 
ing county  had  expected  a  more  complaisant 
response,  was  not  best  pleased  that  the 
proposal  should  be  discountenanced,  but 
he  merely  remarked,  "Very  well,  gentle- 
men," and  the  case  proceeded.  In  the 
luncheon  interval,  however,  he  sent  for  the 
counsel  who  had  applied  for  the  adjourn- 
ment, and  after  intimating  to  him  that  he 


76  Lawyers 

had  no  notion  of  being  overridden  in  the 
matter  by  the  jury,  suggested  that  he  should 
renew  the  application  still  more  urgently 
after  lunch.  Accordingly,  on  the  reassem- 
bling of  the  court  the  same  counsel  again 
rose,  and  apologizing  to  the  Judge  with 
affected  diffidence  for  renewing  the  applica- 
tion of  the  morning,  stated  that  he  had  been 
afforded  during  the  luncheon  interval  an 
opportunity  of  ascertaining  the  feeling  of 
the  bar  in  the  matter,  which  was  so  unani- 
mously in  favor  of  an  adjournment  for  the 
race  that  he  ventured  to  hope  the  concession 
might  be  granted.  The  Judge,  who  feigned 
a  sort  of  resigned  surprise  at  the  revival  of 
the  subject,  thereupon  turned  to  the  jury 
and  addressed  them  as  follows:  "You  have 
heard,  gentlemen,  what  has  just  been  urged 
by  the  learned  counsel.  Of  course,  under 
ordinary  circumstances  I  should  not  think  of 
entertaining  so  unusual  an  application,  and 
one,  moreover,  which  does  not  commend 
itself  to  the  jury ;  but  on  the  present  occasion 


A  Solemn  Remonstrance  77 

the  case  is  exceptional.  We  happen  to  be 
here  at  the  time  when  a  great  event  in  con- 
nection with  what  has  been  rightly  designated 
the  national  pastime  is  about  to  be  celebrated, 
and  it  has  been  represented  that  there  is  a 
very  strong — indeed,  an  almost  unanimous — 
desire  on  the  part  of  those  in  court  to  witness 
this  historic  race.  Should  I  be  justified,"  he 
continued,  solemnly  scanning  the  jury — 
"  should  I  be  justified  in  refusing  to  sanction 
a  short  adjournment  for  what  is,  under  the 
circumstances,  so  legitimate  and  reasonable 
an  object?" 

The  jury  still  remained  moodily  obdu- 
rate, and  the  Judge,  after  a  pause,  re- 
sumed: "I  regret  to  observe,  gentlemen, 
that  you  do  not  appear  to  be  in  accord  with 
the  prevailing  sentiment,  but  I  cannot  never- 
theless help  feeling  that  it  would  be  ungra- 
cious, I  might  even  say  arbitrary,  on  my  part 
if  I  refused  to  give  effect  to  it.  In  fact," 
he  added,  slowly  gathering  up  his  robes,  "  I 
am  inclined   to    think — indeed,   I    am   quite 


78  Lawyers 

sure — that  in  spite  of  your  continued  dissent 
it  is  incumbent  on  me,  nay,  it  is  my  positive 
duty,  to  adjourn  the  court  [then  majestically 
rising  from  the  bench],  and  I  will  I  " 

Mr.  Justice  Byles  was  another  " strong" 
judge  of  that  epoch  whose  austere  demeanor 
was  in  strict  harmony  with  an  almost  ultra- 
puritanical  attitude  of  mind,  which  on  one 
occasion  was  subjected  to  a  very  unwelcome 
experience.  He  was  trying  a  case  at  Win- 
chester in  which  some  soldiers  of  the  depot 
were  indicted  for  a  riotous  affray  with  a  gang 
of  navvies  employed  in  the  neighborhood. 
One  of  these  navvies  had  been  under  examina- 
tion for  a  considerable  time  with  very  little 
practical  result,  and  at  last  the  Judge,  inter- 
posing, observed  to  the  examining  counsel 
that  he  appeared  to  be  making  very  little 
way  with  the  witness,  who  had  better  be 
allowed  to  give  his  evidence  after  his  own 
fashion.  "Come,  my  man,"  said  the  Judge 
reassuringly,  "  we  must  get  to  the  end  of  this. 
Suppose  you  tell  the  story  in  your  own  way." 


An  Unfortunate  Suggestion  79 

"  Well,  my  lord,"  broke  out  the  navvy,  greatly 
relieved  at  being  delivered  from  his  tormentor, 
"  you  see  it  was  like  this :  We  met  the  sodgers 
on  the  bridge  and  one  of  'em  says  to  me, 

'  Good  morninV       '  Good  mornin',  yer ' " 

But  before  the  specimen  of  appalling  ver- 
nacular that  followed  was  well  articulated 
Mr.  Justice  Byles  had  fled  precipitately  from 
the  bench,  with,  no  doubt,  a. mental  resolu- 
tion never  again  to  invite  a  witness  of  the 
navigating  order  to  "tell  his  story  in  his 
own  way." 

Apropos  of  witnesses  and  counsel,  I  think 
the  most  scathing  retort  that  I  ever  read 
was  the  following,  which  I  saw  in  some 
country  newspaper  report  of  an  assize 
case.  A  counsel  had  been  cross-examining 
a  witness  for  some  time  with  very  little 
effect,  and  had  sorely  taxed  the  patience 
of  the  Judge,  the  jury,  and  every  one  in 
court.  At  last  the  Judge  intervened  with 
an  imperative  hint  to  the  learned  gentleman 
to    conclude    his     cross-examination.      The 


80  Lawyers 

counsel,  who  received  this  judicial  intimation 
with  a  very  bad  grace,  before  telling  the  wit- 
ness to  stand  down  accosted  him  with  the 
parting  sarcasm:  "  Ah,  you're  a  clever  fellow, 
a  very  clever  fellow !  We  can  all  see  that !  " 
The   witness,    bending   over   from   the   box, 

x  quietly  retorted,  "  I  would  return  the  com- 

^pliment  if  I  were  not  on  oath!" 

Counsel  are  not,  as  a  rule,  too  receptive  of 
hints  from  the  bench  as  to  the  conduct  of  a 
case.  I  remember  hearing  a  leather-lunged 
gentleman  bawling  legal  platitudes  to  old 
Vice-Chancellor  Bacon,  who,  after  sitting  pas- 
sive for  some  time  in  a  state  of  ill-concealed 
irritability,  gave  utterance  in  quavering  tones 
to  the  following  pungent  remonstrance,  "I 
am  of  course  aware,  Mr.  So-and-so,  that  it 
is  my  duty  to  hear  you,  but  I  venture  to 
remind  you  that  there  is  such  a  quality 
as  mer-r-cy!"  The  Vice-Chancellor,  though 
rather  crusty  on  the  bench,  was  a  model  of  old- 
world  politeness  in  private  life.  I  remember 
on  one  occasion  that  a  Bayswater  omnibus 


Vice-Chancellor  Bacon  81 

in  which  I  was  riding  made  an  unduly  long 
halt  at  the  end  of  a  street  near  Hyde  Park 
Gardens,  and  just  as  the  "  fares  "  were  begin- 
ning to  wax  impatient  an  old  gentleman  was 
seen  crossing  the  road,  in  the  direction  of  the 
omnibus,  under  the  guardianship  of  a  butler. 
As  he  laboriously  hoisted  himself  up  the  step 
I  saw  to  my  surprise  that  it  was  no  less  a 
personage  than  Vice-Chancellor  Bacon,  who 
in  the  vacation  (as  it  then  was)  apparently 
considered  himself  justified  in  sinking  his 
dignity  by  indulging  in  a  twopenny  ride.  I 
extended  a  helping  hand  to  the  old  man,  who 
was  then  nearer  ninety  than  eighty  and 
naturally  far  from  agile.  As  a  rule,  I  have 
found  that  assistance  thus  proffered,  though 
eagerly  accepted,  receives  very  little  acknowl- 
edgment beyond  an  ill-tempered  grunt  or  a 
stony  stare.  But  the  old  Judge,  entirely  at 
variance  with  his  demeanor  on  the  bench, 
turned  ceremoniously  round  to  me  before 
sitting  down  (a  maneuver  not  easy  to  the 
most    active    in    a   moving    omnibus),    and 


82  Lawyers 

with  an  old-world  urbanity  faltered  in  his 
curious  nut-cracker  voice,  "I  beg  to  thank 
you,  sir,  for  your  very  great  courtesy." 

He  and  Lord  Chief  Justice  Cockburn  were, 
I  think,  the  only  two  judges  who  regu- 
larly attended  the  Monday  popular  con- 
certs, though  there  was  always  a  large 
legal  element  in  the  audience.  Sir  Alex- 
ander Cockburn  was  a  personage  who 
would  have  figured  with  great  effect  in 
a  novel.  Unimpeachable  in  his  public 
capacity,  his  private  life  resembled  rather 
Lord  Thurlow's  than  that  of  a  nineteenth- 
century  judge.  Nevertheless,  like  Thurlow, 
he  scrupulously  maintained  the  dignity  of 
his  office,  which  somewhat  suffered  dur- 
ing the  regime  of  his  successor,  Lord  Cole- 
ridge, who,  so  far  as  externals  were 
concerned,  had  greatly  the  advantage. 
Both,  however,  were  more  distinguished 
at  the  bar  than  on  the  bench,  though 
Cockburn  was  far  from  being  a  mere  forensic 
orator,  his  speech  on  the  Don  Paciflco  ques- 


Sir  Alexander  Cockburn  83 

tion  being  one  of  the  finest  ever  delivered 
in  Parliament.  Probably  the  greatest  com- 
pliment paid  to  him  as  an  advocate  was  from 
Palmer,  the  Rugeley  poisoner  ("my  sainted 
Bill,"  as  his  mother  always  termed  him),  who 
on  being  found  guilty  handed  down  to  his 
counsel  a  slip  of  paper  bearing  the  following 
words:  "It's  the  riding  that's  done  it," 
Cockburn  having  been  the  prosecuting  coun- 
sel. Lord  Coleridge  was  decidedly  his  inferior 
both  as  an  advocate  and  as  a  Parliamentary 
orator,  though  usually  felicitous  enough 
when  delivering  a  literary  address  or  a 
post-prandial  speech.  On  one  occasion,  how- 
ever, he  was  betrayed  into  a  curious  piece  of 
bathos  which  all  the  magic  of  his  silvery 
accents  was  unable  to  redeem.  He  was 
among  the  distinguished  guests  at  the  dinner 
given  at  Balliol  to  celebrate  the  opening  of 
the  new  college  hall,  and  Archbishop  Tait 
having  responded  for  the  college,  Lord  Cole- 
ridge was  deputed  to  respond  for  the  univer- 
sity.    With    his    accustomed    diffidence,    or 


84  Lawyers 

assumption  of  diffidence,  he  began  his  speech 
by  disclaiming  all  qualifications  to  fulfil  so 
important  a  duty:  "The  most  reverend 
Prelate,' ■  he  observed  with  melodious  unction, 
"  in  spite  of  his  far  more  exalted  position  and 
infinitely  superior  eloquence,  has  on  this 
memorable  occasion  been  called  upon  to  re- 
spond only  for  a  part,  while  I,  in  every  respect 
his  inferior,  who  cannot  claim  to  excel  in  a 
single  one  of  the  accomplishments  with  which 
he  is  so  lavishly  endowed — I,  my  lords  and 
gentlemen,  have  been  asked  to  respond  for 
a  whole,  and  [with  sonorous  emphasis]  what 
a  [w]hole  !  " 

Although  posing  as  one  of  those  unter- 
restrial  judges  who  have  never  heard  of  a 
music  hall  and  are  wholly  unacquainted  with 
slang,  Lord  Coleridge  was  not  above  enjoying 
an  occasional  touch  of  billingsgate  when 
applied  to  any  individual  whom  he  did  not 
particularly  affect.  One  of  his  learned  breth- 
ren with  whom  he  was  on  intimate  terms  was 
one  day  abusing  a  fellow  puisne,  who  hap- 


Lord  Coleridge  85 

pened  to  be  especially  repugnant  to  them 
both,  in  language  the  reverse  of  Parlia- 
mentary. Coleridge  listened  to  the  oppro- 
brious appellations  with  bland  satisfaction 
and  then  unctuously  observed,  "I  am  not 
addicted  to  expressions  of  that  kind  myself, 
but  would  you  mind  saying  it  again?"  As 
is  well  known,  he  signalized  his  tenure  of 
the  lord  chief  justiceship  by  presenting  the 
unprecedented  spectacle  of  appearing  as  a 
defendant  in  an  action  brought  against  him 
by  his  son-in-law,  in  the  course  of  which  he 
sat  in  the  body  of  the  court  prompting  his 
counsel.  Doubtless  this  unedifying  incident 
was  due  rather  to  his  misfortune  than  to 
his  fault;  but  ermine,  even  if  itself  un- 
sullied, becomes  somewhat  depreciated  when 
placed  in  contact  with  dirty  linen,  and  Lord 
Coleridge  never  quite  survived  so  unfortu- 
nate a  shock  to  his  prestige.  Moreover,  he 
had  an  unhappy  propensity  for  indulging  in 
extrajudicial  utterances  of  a  highly  demo- 
cratic character,  and  in  the  course  of  a  visit 


86  Lawyers 

to  America  adopted  an  attitude  of  implied, 
if  not  expressed,  antagonism  toward  his  own 
country  and  its  institutions,  while  fulsomely 
lauding  those  of  the  United  States.  On  the 
whole,  in  spite  of  conspicuous  talents  and 
a  highly  ornamental  presence,  he  must  be 
ranked  as  the  least  satisfactory  occupant  of 
the  lord  chief  justice's  chair  for  considerably 
over  a  century. 

How  much  Coleridge,  when  at  the  bar, 
owed  to  the  untiring  ability  and  laborious- 
ness  of  Charles  Bowen  only  those  who  were 
behind  the  scenes  can  properly  estimate. 
Bowen  certainly  never  recovered  the  strain 
of  the  Tichborne  trial,  in  which  he  was 
throughout  the  animating  spirit  of  the 
Attorney-General,  who  without  him  would 
many  times  have  perilously  floundered. 
Bowen  was  one  of  the  subtlest  lawyers  and 
most  brilliant  scholars  that  ever  adorned  the 
English  bench.  Moreover,  he  was  endowed 
with  a  peculiarly  mordant  wit,  enunciating 
the  most  sardonic  utterances  in  a  voice  of 


Lord  Bowen  87 

almost  feminine  softness.  Of  these,  perhaps, 
the  most  prominent  was  his  protest  to  the 
counsel  who  was  impugning  wholesale  certain 
evidence  which  had  been  filed  against  his 
client.    "  Aren't  you  going  a  little  too   far, 

Mr. ?"      he     murmurously      interposed. 

"Truth,  you  know,  will  occasionally  out, 
even  in  an  affidavit." 

To  see  him  in  the  Court  of  Appeal,  en^ 
tangling  in  his  exquisitely  fine  meshes 
that  rough-and-ready  "  knot-cutter,"  Lord 
Esher,  was  a  treat  of  which  it  was  impossible 
to  have  too  much.  The  feline  purr  in  which 
he  would  half -deferentially,  half-disdainfully 
ply  his  puzzled  senior  with  filigree  subtleties 
was  the  most  finished  example  of  intellectual 
torture  I  ever  had  the  privilege  of  witnessing. 
How  the  sturdy  old  Master  of  the  Rolls 
must  have  rejoiced  when  his  superlatively 
ingenious  colleague  was  promoted  to  the 
House  of  Lords  and  replaced  by  the  less 
complex  intellect  of  Sir  John  Rigby !  Lord 
Esher  was  at  the  best  but  rugged  ore  com- 


88  Lawyers 

pared  to  the  thrice-refined  gold  of  Charles 
Bowen,  who,  if  he  had  only  deigned  to  trample 
the  dust  of  the  political  arena,  would  have 
equaled  on  the  woolsack  even  the  reputation 
of  Westbury. 

But  law  was  not  the  only  field  in  which 
he  shone.  If  not  actually  a  poet,  he  was  a 
verse-writer  of  a  very  high  order,  while  as 
an  essayist  or  a  historian  he  would  by  dint 
of  style  alone  assuredly  have  won  a  dis- 
tinguished place.  His  single  defect  was  per- 
haps an  undue  proclivity  for  irony,  which 
on  one  occasion  he  indulged  in  from  the 
bench,  with  disastrous  effect  on  the  jury. 
Shortly  after  his  appointment  as  a  puisne 
judge  he  was  trying  a  burglar  in  some  country 
town,  and  by  way  of  mitigating  the  tedium 
of  the  proceedings  summed  up  something 
in  the  following  fashion:  "You  will  have 
observed,  gentlemen,  that  the  prosecuting 
counsel  laid  great  stress  on  the  enormity  of 
the  offense  with  which  the  prisoner  is  charged, 
but  I  think  it  is  only  due  to  the  prisoner  to 


Disastrous  Irony  89 

point  out  that  in  proceeding  about  his 
enterprise  he  at  all  events  displayed  remark- 
able consideration  for  the  inmates  of  the 
house.  For  instance,  rather  than  disturb 
the  owner,  an  invalid  lady,  as  you  will  have 
remarked,  with  commendable  solicitude  he 
removed  his  boots  and  went  about  in  his 
stockings,  notwithstanding  the  inclemency  of 
the  weather.  Further,  instead  of  rushing 
with  heedless  rapacity  into  the  pantry,  he 
carefully  removed  the  coal-scuttle  and  any 
other  obstacles  which,  had  he  thoughtlessly 
collided  with  them,  would  have  created  a 
noise  that  must  have  aroused  the  jaded  ser- 
vants from  their  well-earned  repose."  After 
proceeding  in  this  strain  for  some  little  time, 
he  dismissed  the  jury  to  consider  their 
verdict,  and  was  horror-struck  when  on  their 
return  into  court  they  pronounced  the  ac- 
quittal of  the  prisoner. 

Lord  Bowen  was  probably  the  only  judge 
who,  on  being  summoned  on  an  emergency 
to    the    dread    ordeal    of    taking    admiralty 


90  Lawyers 

cases,  entered  upon  his  doom  with  a  pleas- 
antry. After  explaining  to  the  counsel  of 
that  consummately  technical  tribunal  the 
reason  of  his  presiding  over  it  on  the  occasion 
in  question,  and  warning  them  of  his  inex- 
perience in  this  particular  branch  of  practice, 
he  concluded  his  remarks  with  the  following 
quotation  from  Tennyson's  beautiful  lyric, 
then  recently  published: 

"And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  Bar 
When    I    put    out   to    sea." 

I  have  ventured  to  suggest  that  Lord 
Bowen's  legal  intellect  was  not  inferior  to 
that  of  Lord  Westbury,  a  notability  whose 
sayings  are  still  of  absorbing  interest  to  a 
large  section  of  the  public.  With  brains  of 
gold  and  a  tongue  of  gall,  both  at  the  bar 
and  as  chancellor  he  was,  though  in  a  subtle 
fashion,  fully  as  formidable  as  the  terrible 
Thurlow,  and  his  downfall  was  due,  I  have 
been  assured  on  the  best  authority,  less  to 
indiscretion  in  the  matter  of  patronage  (in 
connection  with  which  he  actually  resigned) 


Lord  Westbury  91 

than  to  a  determined  combination  against 
him  of  various  eminent  individuals  who  had 
smarted  under  his  affronts.  Of  these,  the 
most  notable  was  an  illustrious  personage 
whose  resentment  was,  under  the  circum- 
stances, not  surprising. 

According  to  my  informant,  his  royal 
highness  had  long  been  interesting  himself 
on  behalf  of  a  certain  gentleman  whose 
wife  held  a  confidential  position  in  his 
consort's  household,  and  it  appearing  prob- 
able that  the  second  reading  clerkship 
of  the  House  of  Lords  would  shortly 
become  vacant,  he  had  caused  his  protege's 
claims  to  be  made  known  to  the  Chancellor 
with  a  view  to  eventualities.  In  due  course 
the  invalid  reading-clerk  departed  this  life, 
and  the  Prince,  who  had  taken  measures  to 
have  immediate  intelligence  of  the  event, 
at  once  sent  off  an  equerry  to  the  Chancellor 
with  the  news  and  a  strong  hint  that  his 
protege's  candidature  for  the  vacant  post 
should  receive   favorable  consideration.     As 


92  Lawyers 

a  matter  of  fact,  the  Chancellor  could  not 
possibly  have  been  aware  of  the  reading- 
clerk's  death,  but  that  did  not  deter  him  from 
charging  the  equerry  with  the  following 
answer:  "  You  will  convey  my  most  respect- 
ful compliments  to  his  royal  highness,  and 
you  will  inform  his  royal  highness  that  to 
my  profound  regret  I  am  unable  to  comply 
with  his  royal  highness's  wishes,  as  the 
appointment  in  question  is  already  filled 
up."  Then,  on  the  withdrawal  of  the  aston- 
ished messenger,  he  rang  the  bell  and  said 
to  the  servant,  "  Tell  Mr.  Slingsby  I  wish  to 
see  him."  On  Slingsby  Bethell  making  his 
appearance  the  Chancellor  greeted  him  as 
follows:  "Slingsby,  you  are  appointed  second 
reading-clerk  in  the  House  of  Lords."  But 
though  nothing  loth  to  accept  the  post  on 
his  own  account,  Slingsby  Bethell  at  once 
saw  how  prejudicially  it  would  affect  his 
father,  and  urged  him  to  reconsider  his 
decision;  but  the  Chancellor  was  inflexible, 
and  accordingly  made  an  implacable  enemy 


An  Amazing  Message  93 

of  the  royal  personage  he  had  thus  so  ruth- 
lessly affronted. 

Not  content  with  this  exploit,  the  Chan- 
cellor shortly  afterward  signalized  himself 
by  another  only  less  remarkable.  He  had 
issued  invitations  for  a  "high  judicial" 
dinner  party,  the  guests  including  Vice- 
Chancellor  Wood,  a  saintly  old  gentleman 
who  had  recently  produced  a  work  on  "The 
Continuity  of  Scripture,"  and  the  late  Lord 
Penzance,  alike  in  official  and  private  life 
the  embodiment  of  austere  decorum.  To  the 
inexpressible  indignation  of  these  eminent 
worthies,  both  of  whom  were  accompanied 
by  their  ladies,  they  found  the  end  of  the 
Chancellor's  table  (he  was  then  a  widower) 
presided  over  by  a  foreign  countess  more 
conspicuous  for  her  fascinations  than  her 
fair  fame.  As  may  be  easily  imagined,  the 
drawing-room  part  of  the  entertainment  was 
not  of  long  duration,  and  on  reaching  home 
the  outraged  author  of  "The  Continuity  of 
Scripture  "  immediately  sat  down  and  indited 


94  Lawyers 

a  complaint  of  four  pages  to  Lord  Palmer- 
ston,  the  peccant  Chancellor's  ministerial 
chief.  Lord  Palmerston's  reply,  which  my 
informant  had  the  privilege  of  seeing,  was 
scarcely  consolatory.     It  ran  thus: 

11  My  dear  Wood:  I  quite  agree  that  the 
Chancellor's  conduct  is  inexcusable;  but  I 
am  sure  you  will  admit  that  he  treated  me 
worse  than  any  of  you,  for  he  made  me 
take  the  lady  down  to  dinner!  Sincerely 
yours,  Palmerston." 

The  virtuous  Vice-Chancellor  had  to  pocket 
his  indignation,  but  in  common  with  Lord 
Penzance  (then  Sir  J.  P.  Wilde)  he  nursed 
his  vengeance  to  some  purpose.  On  the 
night  when  a  motion  of  censure  on  the 
Chancellor's  unsatisfactory  methods  of  pat- 
ronage was  being  debated  in  the  Commons, 
Lord  Granville  was  talking  to  his  colleague 
on  the  woolsack  and  laughing  to  scorn 
the  bare  idea  of  an  adverse  vote.     But  he 


Vice-Chancellor  Wood  95 

reckoned  without  the  combined  forces  of  the 
Chancellor's  enemies,  for  a  few  moments 
later  the  news  arrived  that  the  motion  had 
been  carried,  though  it  was  universally 
recognized  that  in  the  particular  circum- 
stances the  Chancellor  had  been  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  Richard  Bethell,  Lord  Westbury's  eldest 
son,  had  taken  undue  advantage  of  his 
father's  good  nature  in  the  matter  of  patron- 
age, and  that  the  Chancellor,  though  certainly 
blamable  for  carelessness,  was  absolutely  free 
from  any  suspicion  of  corruption.  It  was 
Richard  Bethell  who  inspired  his  father  with 
one  of  the  neatest  of  impromptu  puns. 
Always  a  spendthrift,  even  when  his  father 
was  attorney-general,  he  had  been  proclaimed 
an  outlaw,  and  was  forced  to  lie  perdu  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Channel.  When,  however, 
Sir  Richard  was  made  lord  chancellor  and  a 
family  meeting  was  held  to  decide  on  the 
title  of  his  peerage,  Dick  Bethell,  as  the 
heir,  thought  well  to  steal  back  in  order  to 


g6  Lawyers 

be  present  at  the  consultation,  which  took 
place  at  a  country  seat  then  occupied  by 
the  Chancellor  near  Basingstoke,  called 
Hackwood.  Various  titles  were  suggested, 
but  without  result,  and  eventually  Dick 
Bethell  attempted  to  solve  the  difficulty  by 
suggesting  that  his  father  should  become 
Lord  Hackwood.  "  No,  no,  Richard,"  replied 
the  Chancellor,  "that  would  never  do;  for 
if  I  became  Lord  Hackwood  you  would 
infallibly  be  dubbed  the  Honorable  Mr. 
'  Cut-your-Stick' ! " 

I  believe  that  Lord  Westbury  had  a  far 
kinder  heart  than  his  manner  ever  permitted 
him  to  gain  credit  for.  The  late  Mr.  Com- 
missioner Holroyd,  in  whose  chambers  the 
Chancellor  had  been  a  pupil,  among  many 
others  who  afterward  attained  judicial  rank, 
told  me  that  of  them  all  Lord  Westbury 
was  the  only  one  who  had  attempted  to 
serve  him  (he  proposed,  though  unsuccess- 
fully, the  Commissioner  as  chief  judge  in  bank- 
ruptcy under  a  new  act),  and  that  the  loyalty 


A  Sardonic  Pun  97 

and  genuine  goodness  of  heart  which  underlay 
his  undesirable  qualities  had  never  been  done 
justice  to.  The  late  Lady  Westbury  ("  Dick  " 
Bethell's  widow)  told  me  the  same  thing, 
though  she  admitted  that  her  father-in-law 
was  at  first  terribly  formidable.  She  in- 
stanced an  occasion  on  which,  while  he  was 
still  at  the  bar,  she  had  to  see  him  at  his 
chambers  on  some  question*  connected,  I 
think,  with  her  marriage  settlements,  and 
while  they  were  talking  Sir  Richard's  clerk 
rashly  entered  with  a  message  about  a 
brief.  ''Will  you  be  obliging  enough, " 
drawled  the  Attorney-General  with  ominous 
trenchancy,  "to  close  that  door  and  remain 
on  the  other  side  of  it?"  The  wretched 
clerk  looked  as  if  he  would  have  been  thankful 
to  sink  through  the  floor,  and  Lady  Westbury 
said  she  felt  suddenly  frozen  up.  But  his 
supreme  achievement  of  this  sort  occurred 
at  a  special  meeting  of  the  Conservative 
Club,  to  which  he  had  been  summoned 
to  explain  his  conduct  in  standing  for  Parlia- 


98  Lawyers 

ment  as  a  Liberal.  The  chairman  of  the 
meeting  was  Mr.  Quintin  Dick,  who,  being 
slightly  deaf,  could  not  altogether  catch 
Bethell's  mincing  tones  of  contemptuous 
defiance  delivered  from  a  rather  remote  part 
of  the  room.  On  Mr.  Dick  somewhat  im- 
periously requesting  him  to  "  speak  up, " 
Bethell  replied  with  acetic  suavity  that 
''he  was  very  sorry  for  being  inaudible,  but 
he  had  really  supposed  that  the  ears  of  the 
honorable  chairman  were  long  enough  to 
be  reached  by  his  remarks  even  from  that 
distant  part  of  the  room"  !  His  doom  after 
that  was  of  course  a  fait  accompli;  indeed, 
aware  that  in  any  case  it  was  assured,  he 
resolved  before  receiving  sentence  to  treat 
his  tribunal  to  a  taste  of  his  quality.  Only 
once,  I  believe,  did  he  actually  incur  corporeal 
retribution  for  his  offensiveness,  and  that 
was  at  the  hands — or,  rather,  at  the  toes — 
of  Mr.  Neate,  a  Chancery  barrister  who 
sat  in  Parliament  for  the  city  of  Oxford. 
Bethell  had  thought  fit  in  the  course  of  some 


A  Stinging  Retort  99 

case  to  make  an  envenomed  attack  on  Mr. 
Neate,  who  was  also  engaged.  Neate,  red- 
hot  with  resentment,  waited  for  the  great 
man  outside  the  court  and  treated  him  to 
the  rough-and-ready  form  of  vengeance  which 
I  have  already  indicated.  To  kick  a  leader 
of  the  bar  as  one  would  a  cheeky  school- 
boy was  un  pen  trop  fort,  however  great  the 
provocation,  and  poor  Neate  only  saved 
himself  from  being  disbarred  by  under- 
taking never  to  hold  a  brief  again. 

One  of  the  greatest  equity  judges  of  the 
last  half-century  was  the  late  Sir  George 
Jessel,  the  first  and  so  far  the  only  Jew  who 
has  been  raised  to  the  English  bench.  Jessel's 
appointment  was  received  with  a  certain 
amount  of  misgiving,  not  on  account  of  his 
attainments,  which  were  unexceptionable,  but 
by  reason  of  an  undesirable  audacity  which  had 
occasionally  marked  his  conduct  of  cases  at 
the  bar.  There  is  no  doubt  that  at  a  pinch, 
in  order  to  score  a  point,  he  was  not 
above  "improving"  the  actual  text   of   the 


i  oo  Lawyers 

report  which  he  purported  to  be  quoting,  and 
I  well  remember  that  this  practice  produced 
quite  a  dramatic  little  scene  when,  having 
sprung  upon  a  particularly  painstaking  oppo- 
nent some  case  which  apparently  demolished 
the  latter's  argument,  that  learned  gentleman, 
with  an  almost  apoplectic  gasp,  requested 
that  the  volume  might  be  passed  to  him. 
The  result  of  his  perusal  was  more  satis- 
factory to  himself  than  it  was  to  Jessel,  who, 
however,  treated  the  matter  as  a  mere  trifle 
not  worth  fussing  about  and  calmly  restarted 
his  argument  on  a  new  tack. 

In  this  undesirable  habit  he  resembled 
an  eminent  predecessor  who,  on  invest- 
ing some  obsolete  case  on  which  he  was 
relying  with  a  complexion  peculiarly  favor- 
able to  his  argument  but  quite  new  to 
the  presiding  judge,  the  latter  quietly  asked 
him  to  hand  up  his  volume  of  reports. 
After  a  moment's  critical  examination 
the  Judge  handed  the  volume  back  with 
the     scathing     rebuke:     "As     I     thought, 


Sir  Georg6  ■  JeSssl :  i  "  ioi 

Mr. ;   my    memory    of    thirty   years   is 

more  accurate  than  your  quotation." 

But  once  on  the  bench,  Jessel  not  only  dis- 
carded all  derogatory  methods,  but  also 
pounced  remorselessly  on  any  too  ingenious 
practitioner  who  might  attempt  to  resort  to 
them,  and  brief  as  was  his  judicial  career,  he 
contrived  to  leave  a  reputation  unrivaled 
in  the  Rolls  Court  since  tne  days  of  Sir 
William  Grant. 

A  chancery  court  is  not,  as  a  rule,  a  very 
amusing  resort,  but  Vice-Chancellor  Malins 
was  always  able  to  command  a  fairly  "good 
house,"  as  he  might  generally  be  counted  on 
to  show  a  certain  amount  of  sport  under  the 
stimulating  attacks  of  Mr.  Glasse  and  his 
Hibernian  rival,  Mr.  Napier  Higgins.  Mr. 
Glasse,  whose  countenance  recalled  that  of 
a  vicious  old  pointer,  when  not  engaged 
in  bandying  epithets  with  Mr.  Higgins  applied 
himself  only  too  successfully  to  developing  the 
unhappy  Vice-Chancellor's  propensities  for 
making  himself  ridiculous.     Sir  Richard,  an 


io2  Lawyers 

amiable,  loquacious  old  gentleman,  who  had 
bored  and  buttonholed  his  Parliamentary- 
chiefs  into  giving  him  a  judgeship,  was  cer- 
tainly an  easy  prey  for  a  bullying  counsel. 
In  external  aspect  dignified  enough,  he  was 
afflicted  with  a  habit  of  conversational  irrel- 
evancy which  might  have  supplied  a  master- 
subject  for  the  pen  of  Charles  Dickens.  While 
Higgins  roared  him  down  like  a  floundering 
bull,  Glasse  plied  the  even  more  discomfiting 
weapons  of  calculated  contempt  and  imper- 
tinence. 

The  following  is  a  sample  of  scenes  which 
were  then  of  almost  daily  occurrence  in  Sir 
Richard's  court.  "That  reminds  me,"  the 
judge  would  oracularly  interpose,  fixing  his 
eyeglass  and  glancing  round  the  court — 
"  that  reminds  me  of  a  point  I  once  raised  in 
the  House  of  Commons " 

"Really,  my  lord,"  Mr.  Glasse  would 
bruskly  interrupt  with  a  withering  sneer, 
"  we  have  not  come  here  to  listen  to  your  lord- 
ship's Parliamentary  experiences. ' '    Whereat, 


Vice-Chancellor  Malins  103 

with  an  uneasy  flush,  the  Vice-Chancellor 
would  mutteringly  resume  attention.  On 
one  occasion  I  recollect  Mr.  Glasse  so  far 
forgetting  himself  as  to  exclaim  audibly  in 
response  to  some  sudden  discursion  from  the 

bench,  "  D d  old  woman  ! "    Every   one, 

of  course,  tittered,  and  the  Vice-Chancellor, 
for  once  nerving  himself  for  reprisals,  bent 
forward  with  a  scarlet  face  and  the  interroga- 
tory, "  What  was  that  you  said,  Mr.  Glasse  ? " 
But  his  terrible  antagonist  was  not  to  be 
confounded.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation 
he  replied,  airily  flourishing  his  many-colored 
bandana,  "  My  lord,  I  will  frankly  acknowl- 
edge that  my  remark  was  not  intended  for 
your  lordship's  ears,"  an  explanation  which 
Malins  thought  it  prudent  humbly  to  accept. 
But  in  justice  be  it  said  that  though 
intimidated  in  a  fashion  by  this  brace  of 
forensic  bruisers,  the  Vice-Chancellor  was  in 
his  judgments  no  respecter  of  persons,  and 
in  the  celebrated  Rugby  School  case  he 
administered  a  rebuke  to   a   right   reverend 


104  Lawyers 

prelate,  lately  at  the  head  of  the  Church, 
which  must  have  been  far  from  comfortable 
reading  if  a  full  report  of  the  proceedings 
ever  came  under  his  notice. 

Sir  Richard's  garrulity  once  cost  him 
rather  dear.  On  arriving  unusually  late 
in  court  he  artlessly  explained  that  his 
unpunctuality  was  due  to  his  having  started 
for  his  morning  ride  minus  his  watch,  which 
he  had  accidentally  left  at  home,  and  in 
consequence  had  been  beguiled  into  a  pro- 
longation of  his  amble  with  the  "liver 
brigade."  About  an  hour  after  this  rather 
unnecessary  explanation  a  person  presented 
himself  at  the  Vice-Chancellor's  house  in 
Lowndes  Square  and  informed  the  butler 
that  he  had  been  sent  from  the  court  for  Sir 
Richard's  watch.  The  butler  at  first  was 
suspicious,  but  on  rinding  the  watch  on  his 
master's  dressing-table,  and  thinking  that  he 
would  be  greatly  inconvenienced  without 
it,  he  handed  the  timepiece,  a  very  valu- 
able  one,  to   the  messenger,  who  promptly 


Costly  Loquacity  105 

hurried   off,    but    not    in    the    direction    of 
Lincoln's  Inn. 

Though  by  no  means  a  wit  even  of  the  judi- 
cial order,  Sir  Richard  must  be  credited  with 
one  apposite  pleasantry  which,  though  well 
enough  known  among  lawyers,  may  be  nar- 
rated for  the  benefit  of  the  lay  community. 
At  the  time  when  Vice-Chancellor  Bacon  was 
one  of  his  colleagues,  Malins  had  before 
him  some  case  in  which  one  of  the  parties 
was  of  that  order  peculiarly  obnoxious  to  the 
legal  mind,  namely,  the  "  cranky "  litigant. 
In  delivering  judgment,  the  Vice-Chancellor 
felt  himself  constrained  to  take  a  view 
adverse  to  the  claims  set  up  by  this  individual, 
who  determined  to  avenge  himself  for  what 
he  chose  to  consider  a  miscarriage  of  justice. 
Accordingly,  one  morning  shortly  after  the 
judgment  he  presented  himself  in  court, 
and  taking  aim  from  amid  the  bystanders, 
hurled  an  overpreserved  egg  at  the  head  of 
his  oppressor.  The  Vice-Chancellor  by 
ducking    adroitly    managed    to    avoid    the 


106  Lawyers 

missile,  which  malodorously  discharged  itself 
at  a  comparatively  safe  distance  from  its 
target.  "I  think,"  observed  Sir  Richard, 
almost  grateful  in  spite  of  the  Use  majeste, 
for  so  apt  an  opportunity  of  qualifying  as  a 
judicial  wag — "  I  think  that  egg  must  have 
been  intended  for  my  brother  Bacon. " 

Apropos  of  troublesome  litigants,  the  days 
of  Mrs.  Weldon's  forensic  feats  are  now  far 
distant,  and,  sad  to  relate,  her  solitary 
reappearance,  as  is  too  often  the  case  with 
retired  "  stars,"  was  a  dismal  fiasco.  But 
twenty  years  ago  she  was  a  power  and 
something  more  in  the  High  Court,  in  spite 
of  public  ridicule  and  professional  prejudice 
scoring  triumph  after  triumph,  such  as  fall 
to  the  lot  of  few  of  even  the  most  practised 
advocates.  One  of  her  most  effective  weapons 
was  her  exquisitely  modulated  voice,  which 
was  capable  of  the  subtlest  inflection  of  scorn 
and  irony  that  I  ever  heard  from  human  lips. 
It  showed  to  particular  advantage  in  one 
of  the  numerous  actions  which  she  success- 


Mrs.  Weldon  107 

fully  brought  by  reason  of  having  been 
improperly  placed  in  a  private  lunatic  asylum 
by  certain  well-meaning  but  injudicious 
friends.  The  case  was  tried  by  a  judge 
whose  well-known  proclivities  for  patrician 
society  and  surroundings  rendered  him  occa- 
sionally a  somewhat  partial  arbiter.  In  this 
instance  his  sympathies  were  from  the  first 
manifestly  in  favor  of  the  defendants, 
while  he  displayed  toward  the  plaintiff, 
who  was  as  usual  conducting  her  own  case,  a 
harshness  and  brusquerie  which  were  quite 
uncalled  for.  But  judicial  antipathies  never 
greatly  troubled  Mrs.  Weldon,  who  as  a 
litigant  had  very  soon  discovered  that  a  dead 
set  by  the  judge,  especially  against  a  woman, 
not  infrequently  results  in  enlisting  the 
sympathies  of  the  jury.  Accordingly,  after 
one  or  two  ineffectual  attempts  on  the  part 
of  the  bench  to  stifle  the  whole  business, 
Mrs.  Weldon  was  allowed  to  proceed. 
I  did  not  hear  much  of  her  opening  address, 
but    was    fortunate    enough    to    be    present 


108  Lawyers 

during  the  first  part  of  her  examination  of 
Sir  Henry  de  Bathe,  the  substance  of  which, 
for  the  sake  of  convenience,  I  will  give  in 
dialogue  form.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  Sir  Henry  had  been  one  of  Mrs.  Weldon's 
oldest  friends,  and  that  she  was  perfectly 
acquainted  with  all  particulars  as  to  his 
rank  and  status. 

Mrs.  Weldon  (to  witness):  I  believe  your 
name  is  Sir  Henry  de  Bathe? 

Sir  Henry  (with  lofty  indifference) :  Yes. 

Mrs.  Weldon:  A  baronet? 

Sir  Henry:  Yes. 

Mrs.  Weldon:  And  formerly  colonel  com- 
manding the  Scots  Guards? 

Sir  Henry  (with  a  touch  of  self-complacency) : 
Just  so. 

Mrs.  Weldon:  You  are  also,  I  believe,  a 
county  magistrate? 

Sir  Henry  (with  a  bored  air):  Oh,  yes. 

Mrs.  Weldon:  Anything  else? 

Sir  Henry  (after  a  pause):  Not  that  I 
know  of. 


A  Lady  Litigant  109 

Mrs.  Weldon:  Oh,  come,  Sir  Henry  de  Bathe, 
just  refresh  your  memory,  please. 

Sir  Henry  (after  a  longer  pause) :  I  really 
can't  recollect. 

Mrs.  Weldon:  Dear  me!  And  I  should 
have  thought  it  so  very  important!  Come, 
now,  have  you  never  heard  of  St.  Luke's 
Asylum  ? 

Sir  Henry  (with  an  enlightened  expression) : 
Oh,  ah,  yes,  of  course;  but  I  wasn't  thinking 
of  that  kind  of  thing,  you  know. 

Mrs.  Weldon:  I  can  quite  believe  that. 
Well,  now,  tell  my  lord  and  the  jury  what 
your  connection  with  St.  Luke's  Asylum  is. 

Sir  Henry:  Well,  I  am  one  of  the 
governors,  you  know. 

Mrs.  Weldon:  Exactly.  You  are  one  of 
the  governors  of  St.  Luke's  Asylum,  which 
I  believe  is  an  asylum  for  sufferers  from 
mental  diseases? 

Sir  Henry:  I  believe  so. 

Mrs.  Weldon:  You  only  believe  so  !  Come. 
Is  it  a  fact  or  not  ? 


no  Lawyers 

Sir  Henry:  Oh,  yes;  certainly. 

Mrs.  Weldon:  Well,  now,  will  you  tell  us 
in  what  your  duties  as  a  governor  of  St. 
Luke's  Asylum  consist?  [An  embarrassed 
silence,  during  which  the  witness  rather 
nervously  adjusts  his  necktie.]  I  am  waiting, 
Sir  Henry  de  Bathe.  [No  answer.]  Surely, 
Sir  Henry  de  Bathe,  you  are  not  going  to  let 
the  jury  infer  that,  although  a  governor  of 
this  important  asylum,  you  are  unable  to  give 
any  account  of  your  duties? 

Sir  Henry  (after  a  further  pause  and  almost 
agitated  attention  to  the  ends  of  his  tie): 
Well,  I — I — look  in  now  and  then,  you 
know. 

Mrs.  Weldon  (with  an  inflection  of  consum- 
mate irony) :  You  look  in  now  and  then ! 
[To  the  jury.]  I  hope,  gentlemen,  you  will 
appreciate  the  answer  of  the  honorable 
baronet.  Here  is  a  person  who,  being 
governor  of  a  lunatic  asylum,  signed  an 
order  declaring  me  to  be  of  unsound  mind, 
and   yet   the   only    definition    he    can    give 


"Society"  Judges  in 

of  his  duties  is  that  he  "  looks  in  now  and 
then ! " 

(Sir  Henry  writhes,  and  the  jury  smile 
with  a  significant  air  of  sympathy,  which 
renders  a  verdict  for  the  plaintiff  a  fore- 
gone conclusion.) 

" Society"  judges  are,  for  obvious  reasons, 
not  satisfactory  occupants  of  the  bench.  With 
every  desire  to  be  impartial,  they  are  insensibly 
prejudiced  in  favor  of  the  class  with  whom 
they  aspire  to  mingle,  and  in  a  celebrated 
trial  that  took  place  some  twenty  years  ago, 
in  which  a  certain  sculptor  much  affected  by 
great  ladies  was  one  of  the  parties,  the  pre- 
siding judge  cut  a  figure  which  made  him 
ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  and  almost 
a  public  laughing-stock.  Of  the  present 
judicial  body  Sir  Francis  Jeune  is  the  only 
member  who  mixes  much  in  fashionable 
society,  and  though  he  has  hitherto  been 
fortunate  in  not  having  to  deal  with  his 
hosts  and  hostesses  in  the  character  of  delin- 
quents, it  is  of  course  always  possible  that 


ii2  Lawyers 

such  a  contretemps  may  occur,  in  which  case 
it  would  require  all  the  President's  tact  and 
adroitness  to  maintain  an  attitude  satis- 
factory to  himself  and  to  the  public.  In  the 
old  days,  with  the  single  exception  of  Vice- 
Chancellor  Leach,  judges  did  not  aspire  to 
patrician  society,  and  the  spectacle  of  the 
chief  of  a  tribunal  for  matrimonial  causes 
appearing  at  a  "  smart "  ball  in  fancy  costume 
would  have  been  hailed  with  pious  horror. 
Lord  chancellors,  of  course,  are  in  a  differ- 
ent category;  but  even  Lord  Lyndhurst's 
" society"  proclivities  were  looked  upon  in 
many  quarters  with  disapprobation,  succeed- 
ing as  they  did  the  austere  aloofness  observed 
by  Lord  Eldon.  Lyndhurst,  indeed,  in  spite 
of  his  legal  genius,  was  by  temperament 
much  more  qualified  for  a  party  than  a 
judicial  arena.  One  of  those  politicians  who 
make  expediency  the  main  article  of  their 
creed,  he  was  never  troubled  by  scruples  when 
they  stood  in  the  way  of  scoring  a  trick  in 
the  political  game;  and  though  Lord  Camp- 


Lord  Lyndhurst  113 

bell  in  his  "  Lives"  is  undoubtedly  too  hard 
on  him,  his  volte-face  from  principles  that 
verged  on  Jacobinism  to  those  that  prompted 
the  "  Six  Acts  "  has  never  been  satisfactorily 
accounted  for.  For  his  popularity  he  was 
chiefly  indebted  to  his  many  personal  quali- 
ties, that  of  never  forgetting  a  friend  being 
prominent  among  them.  The  father  of  an 
old  gentleman  with  whom  I  was  acquainted 
had  given  Lord  Lyndhurst,  then  merely  the 
unknown  son  of  a  not  too  prosperous  artist, 
his  first  brief,  and,  whether  in  or  out  of  office, 
the  Chancellor  never  forgot  it.  He  befriended 
the  family  in  every  way  open  to  him,  and 
after  one  of  them  had  proved  a  hopeless 
failure  in  every  other  capacity,  rather  than 
let  him  "go  under"  he  made  him  one  of  his 
private  secretaries.     "Si  sic  omnes ! " 

Another  ex-chancellor  of  exceeding  charm, 
though  of  far  inferior  abilities,  was  the  first 
Lord  Chelmsford.  I  once  had  the  good 
fortune  to  sit  opposite  him  at  a  dinner  party, 
and  was  greatly  struck  by  his  courtly  manner 


ii4  Lawyers 

and  sparkling  talk,  which  were  enhanced  by 
unusually  handsome  features,  though  he  was 
then  a  good  deal  nearer  eighty  than  seventy. 
One  fact  that  he  mentioned  concerning  him- 
self astonished  me  not  a  little.  The  talk 
happening  to  turn  on  naval  subjects,  he 
quietly  remarked:  "I  am  afraid  I  have  for- 
gotten the  little  I  once  knew  on  such  matters, 
but  I  began  life  in  the  navy,  and  was  a  mid- 
shipman in  the  Copenhagen  expedition  of 
1807."  Lady  Chelmsford  was  also  at  the 
dinner,  an  amiable-looking  old  lady,  whom 
it  was  difficult  to  credit  with  the  affront  on 
Mrs.  Disraeli  which  was  said  to  have  procured 
the  latter  her  coronet  and  Lord  Chelmsford 
his  conge.  I  have  been  told  lately  that  the 
dismissal  did  not  rest  with  Mr.  Disraeli,  and 
perhaps  the  actual  facts  will  come  to  light  in 
Lord  Rowton's  long-awaited  biography.  At 
all  events,  Disraeli  subsequently  showed  a 
marked  friendliness  to  members  of  the  ex- 
chancellor's  family,  appointing  his  second 
son,  Alfred,  per  solium  to  a  lord  justiceship 


Lord  Chelmsford  115 

of  appeal — the  only  other  instances  of  like 
promotion  being,  I  believe,  in  the  cases  of 
Lord  Justice  Mellish  and  Lord  Justice  Cotton, 
though  several  law  officers  and  ex-law  officers 
of  the  Crown  have  been  appointed  to  the  same 
court  without  holding  intermediate  judicial 
office.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  a  pity 
that  no  memoir  of  Lord  Chelmsford  has  been 
given  to  the  world.  Though  not  a  great 
lawyer,  he  was  distinctly  a  personage  who 
lived  in  important  times,  and,  moreover,  had 
a  very  pretty  wit.  Perhaps  his  most  felici- 
tous mot  was  the  following,  which  I  do  not 
think  is  very  widely  known.  When  chan- 
cellor he  had  rather  a  partiality  for  reading 
prayers  in  the  House  of  Lords — a  duty  which, 
I  believe,  devolved  upon  the  chancellor  in 
the  absence  of  the  junior  bishop,  or  at  any 
rate  in  the  event  of  there  being  no  spiritual 
peer  present.  On  one  occasion,  the  prelate 
who  should  have  read  the  prayers  not  having 
arrived  at  the  prescribed  hour,  Lord  Chelms- 
ford,  without  giving  him  any   "law,"   pro- 


n6  Lawyers 

ceeded  to  perform  the  ceremony.  Scarcely 
had  the  service  begun  when  the  defaulting 
bishop  arrived,  breathless,  but  of  course 
too  late.  After  prayers  were  over,  as  the 
Chancellor  was  preparing  to  note  the  occur- 
rence according  to  custom,  the  bishop  hastened 
up  to  the  table  with  the  petulant  protest, 
"  I  think  your  lordship  needn't  have  been  in 
such  a  hurry;  you  might  have  given  me  a 
moment." 

''Oh,  if  that's  all,"  rejoined  the  Chancellor, 
taking  up  his  pen,  "  I'll  make  a  minute  of  it." 

I  will  close  this  chapter  with  an  anecdote 
about  another  chancellor,  Lord  Cairns,  which 
illustrates  the  wide  divergency  between  pre- 
cept and  practice.  Some  years  ago  I  ordered 
some  hosiery  of  an  Oxford  Street  tradesman 
with  whom  I  had  not  previously  dealt,  and 
happening  to  be  at  dinner  when  the  articles 
were  sent  home,  was  rather  annoyed  at  the 
messenger  refusing  to  leave  them  without 
being  paid.  The  next  morning  I  called  at 
the  shop  and  expostulated  at  having    been 


Lord  Cairns  117 

treated  with  what  I  considered  scant  cere- 
mony. The  proprietor  politely  apologized, 
but  explained  that  he  always  made  a  practice 
in  the  case  of  a  new  customer  of  not  deliver- 
ing goods  without  payment,  and  proceeded 
to  support  his  usage  by  declaring  that  it  had 
been  enjoined  by  no  less  a  personage  than 
Lord  Chancellor  Cairns,  who,  according  to 
the  hosier,  had  intimated  in  some  case  that 
if  tradesmen  left  goods  without  waiting  to 
be  paid  and  afterward  failed  to  get  their 
money,  they  had  only  themselves  to  thank. 
"I  read  this,"  he  explained,  "in  some  news- 
paper, and  at  once  resolved  that  I  would  in 
future  act  on  his  lordship's  advice,  at  all 
events  where  new  customers  were  concerned. 
Curiously  enough,  not  long  afterward,  who 
should  come  into  my  shop  but  Lord  Cairns 
himself,  who  ordered  some  shirts  which, 
when  made,  were  to  be  sent  to  his  house  in 
South  Kensington.  Accordingly,  when  they 
were  ready  I  sent  my  man  with  them,  and 
bearing  in  mind  his  lordship's  own  excellent 


n8  Lawyers 

advice,  I  told  him  to  wait  for  the  money, 
which,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  at  the  moment 
rather  in  want  of.  My  man,  accordingly, 
on  delivering  the  shirts  presented  the  bill 
to  the  footman,  requesting  that  it  might  be 
paid.  The  footman  at  first  seemed  disposed 
to  shut  the  door  in  his  face,  but  on  my  mes- 
senger declaring  that  if  payment  was  not 
made  his  orders  were  to  take  the  parcel  back, 
the  man  departed  to  consult  the  butler,  who 
appeared  on  the  scene,  bursting  with  indig- 
nation, and  ordered  my  messenger  to  be  off. 
The  man  remaining  obdurate,  the  butler 
departed  in  hot  haste  for  the  steward,  or 
groom  of  the  chambers,  who  raged  even  more 
furiously  but  to  no  purpose,  my  man  stand- 
ing firm.  Finally  this  official  departed,  and 
after  a  short  interval  his  lordship  himself 
appeared,  and  hectored  the  man  to  such  a 
tune  that  he  finally  capitulated  and  left  the 
parcel  minus  the  account.  On  hearing  my 
man's  report  of  what  had  happened  I  wrote  a 
most  respectful  letter  to  Lord  Cairns,  explain- 


Precept  and  Practice  119 

ing  that  but  for  his  own  advice  on  the  subject 
I  should  not  have  thought  of  requesting  pay- 
ment at  the  door;  that,  moreover,  I  really 
supposed  (which  was  true)  that  he  preferred 
to  have  this  system  adopted  in  his  household ; 
concluding  with  a  hope  that  under  the  circum- 
stances he  would  not  be  offended.  However, ' ' 
added  the  disillusioned  hosier,  "his  lordship 
took  no  notice  of  my  letter,  and  actually 
kept  me  waiting  two  years  for  the  money.' ' 
Moral :  Be  chary  of  judicial  precepts,  even 
when  they  emanate  from  a  chancellor. 


III. 

THE  CHURCH 


Bishop  Blomfield — Doctor  Hinds  and  Lord  Palmerston — 
Archbishop  Tait — Mrs.  Tail — Bishop  Jackson  and  the 
Lincolnshire  Clergy — "Squarson"  King — Parson  Dymoke 
— Bishop  Sumner — Lord  Thurlow — Bishop  Wilber force 
— William  Wilberforce — Professor  Jowett — His  Favorite 
Pupils — A  Dinner  Party  at  Jowett' s — Lord  Goschen — 
Lord    Milner. 


III. 

THE  CHURCH 

My  earliest  glimpse  of  lawn  sleeves  was  in 
St.  James's  Church,  Piccadilly,  where  as  a 
small  child  I  remember  seeing  a  burly,  bald- 
headed  old  divine  gesticulating  in  the  pulpit 
to  the  accompaniment  of  a  somewhat  reso- 
nant discourse,  which  to  me,  of  course,  at 
that  tender  age,  merely  amounted  to  "vox 
et  prater ea  nihil."  This  imposing-looking 
preacher  was  no  other  than  Doctor  Blomfield, 
Bishop  of  London,  a  prelate  of  considerable 
vogue  in  his  day,  though  at  present  almost 
forgotten,  except,  perhaps,  as  the  dedicatee 
of  one  of  Cobbett's  most  trenchant  diatribes 
and  name-giver  to  half  a  dozen  of  the  dreariest 
terraces  in  Paddington.  My  acquaintance 
with  Fulham  Palace  began  under  his  suc- 
cessor's reign,  but  I  shall  always  cherish  one 

123 


124  The  Church 

tradition  of  the  Blomfield  days,  which,  lest 
it  be  left  unrecorded  in  the  annals  of  the 
episcopal  edifice,  I  will  venture  to  set  forth 
in  these  pages.  The  composition  of  the 
Bishop's  domestic  circle  was  plentiful,  but  a 
trifle  complex.  He  married  twice,  and  in 
both  unions  had  been  blessed  with  progeny, 
while  his  second  wife  was  a  widow  who, 
besides  supplementing  her  second  husband's 
family,  had  imported  an  independent  brood 
of  her  own.  In  my  experience  the  children 
of  ecclesiastics  do  not,  even  under  normal 
conditions,  always  exemplify  the  Christian 
unity  so  solemnly  enjoined  from  the  parental 
pulpit,  and  with  such  a  blend  as  that  which 
I  have  just  denoted  it  is  scarcely  surprising 
that  unruffled  peace  was  not  invariably  pres- 
ent under  the  Bishop's  roof.  On  one  occa- 
sion when  an  unequal  battle  was  raging 
fast  and  furious  among  the  miscellaneous 
offspring,  the  Bishop  was  disturbed  in  his 
study  by  the  impetuous  entrance  of  his  lady. 
"What  is  it,   my  dear?"   he  inquired  with 


Bishop  Blomfield  125 

ill-concealed  testiness.  "Oh,  Bishop,' '  she 
replied  in  agonized  accents,  "quick!  quick! 
There's  not  a  moment  to  lose  !  Your  children 
are  siding  with  my  children  and  are  murder- 
ing our  children ! "  I  never  saw  the  late 
Admiral  Blomfield  or  his  brother,  the  church 
architect,  each  as  peaceful-looking  an  old 
gentleman  as  ever  ambled  along  Pall  Mall, 
without  wondering  what  part  they  took  in 
that  famous  fray,  and  my  decorous  recollec- 
tion of  their  right  reverend  parent  is  always 
slightly  marred  by  a  whimsical  vision  of  him 
sallying  forth  from  his  sanctum  with  a  dis- 
ordered apron  and  administering  indiscrim- 
inate chastisement  with  a  "  Cruden's  Con- 
cordance." 

Doctor  Blomfield  was  almost  the  only 
bishop  of  those  days  who  did  not  relinquish 
his  miter  simultaneously  with  his  life,  except- 
ing, by  the  way,  poor  Doctor  Hinds,  a  highly 
respected  prelate  whom  a  clandestine  mar- 
riage at  a  cockney  watering-place  rather 
unnecessarily   forced   into   premature   retire- 


126  The  Church 

merit.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  opinion  of 
Lord  Palmerston,  who  never  liked  to  see  a 
good  man  "  go  under  "  on  account  of  a  feminine 
entanglement;  but  more  modern  prejudices 
were  allowed  to  prevail,  and  Palmerston, 
sighing  for  the  halcyon  days  when  such  bag- 
atelles were  accounted  nothing  derogatory 
in  a  pillar  of  the  Church,  had  reluctantly  to 
accept  the  susceptible  Prelate's  resignation. 
But  to  return  to  Fulham  and  its  occupants. 
On  Doctor  Blomfield's  retirement  (to  avoid 
misconception,  let  it  at  once  be  said  on 
account  of  ill-health)  his  see  was  offered  to 
Doctor  Tait,  then  Dean  of  Carlisle,  a  success- 
ful college  tutor,  a  less  successful  headmaster, 
and  by  no  means  a  preeminent  dean,  who, 
it  was  said,  would  never  have  become  a  bishop 
but  for  the  sympathy  felt  for  him  in  high 
quarters  on  account  of  a  peculiarly  distress- 
ing family  bereavement.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this 
not  very  significant  record,  Tait  at  once  rose 
to  the  situation,  and  proved  himself,  not 
only  in  London  but  at  Canterbury,  an  eccle- 


Archbishop  Tait  127 

siastical  ruler  of  the  highest  capacity.  My 
experience  of  him  was  by  no  means  official, 
but  merely  arose  from  my  having  been  at  a 
preparatory  school  with  his  son,  poor  Crau- 
furd  Tait,  which  led  to  my  receiving  occa- 
sional invitations  to  the  palace  for  juvenile 
parties  and  cricket  matches.  On  these  occa- 
sions the  kindliness  and  geniality  of  the 
Bishop  were  especially  conspicuous.  He  had 
a  cordial  word  and  a  pleasant  smile  for  every 
one  of  his  young  guests,  particularly  the 
public-school  section  of  them,  and  would  act 
as  prompter  at  theatricals  or  scorer  at  cricket 
with  as  much  zest  and  as  little  ceremony  as  if 
he  were  once  more  a  schoolboy  himself. 
There  was  not  a  touch  of  the  forced  affability 
or  "grand  seigneur'*  condescension  which  on 
such  occasions  so  often  characterizes  the 
spiritual  big- wig;  quite  simply,  and  yet  with- 
out the  smallest  loss  of  dignity,  he  entered 
into  the  mirth  and  gaiety  of  the  moment, 
genuinely  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  those 
around    him.     Seldom,    indeed,    is    a    great 


128  The  Church 

personage  so  gifted  with  the  faculty  of  set- 
ting "the  young  idea"  at  ease  as  was  the 
tactful,  mellow-hearted  Bishop. 

I  remember  one  particularly  pleasant  in- 
stance. Craufurd  Tait  used  to  beg  for  an 
occasional  scamper  with  the  harriers,  and 
had  asked  me,  then  passing  the  holidays  a 
few  miles  off,  to  let  him  know  when  a  certain 
private  pack  happened  to  have  a  fixture 
within  reach.  Accordingly,  getting  news 
early  one  morning  of  a  meet  that  day  within 
practicable  distance,  I  "footed  it"  off  to 
Fulham  to  inform  young  Tait,  holding  my 
pony  in  reserve  for  later  use.  To  my  con- 
sternation, as  the  hall  door  opened  I  was 
confronted  by  the  whole  episcopal  party 
advancing  toward  the  chapel,  the  Bishop  at 
its  head!  This  was  the  last  thing  I  had 
bargained  for,  and  I  was  about  to  execute 
a  hasty  retreat  when  the  Bishop  good- 
humoredly  saluted  me  with,  "  Well,  my  boy, 
I'm  glad  to  see  you;  but  why  this  early  visit  ?  " 
"I  only  came  to  tell  Craufurd,"   I  blurted 


Unappreciated  Hospitality  129 

out,  "that  the  harriers  meet  at "     With 

a  humorous  twinkle,  and  placing  his  hand 
reassuringly  on  my  shoulder,  the  kindly  old 
fellow  interrupted,  "  Hadn't  you  better  come 
into  chapel  now,  and  tell  us  about  the  harriers 
over  some  breakfast  afterward  ?"  Rather 
ruefully  I  consented  to  go  into  chapel,  but 
begged  to  be  excused  the  breakfast,  darting 
off  after  service  with  an  alacrity  which  seemed 
greatly  to  amuse  my  episcopal  captor. 

I  was  relating  this  experience  to  an  old  coun- 
try clergyman  whom  I  became  acquainted 
with  some  years  ago,  and  he  capped  it  with 
another  instance  of  the  Bishop's  graceful 
kindliness.  My  old  friend  had  been,  in  his 
day,  fellow  and  tutor  of  a  famous  Oxford 
college,  but  his  university  distinctions,  as 
is  too  often  the  case,  had  failed  to  procure 
him  ecclesiastical  advancement,  and  when 
I  met  him  he  was  the  rather  embittered 
incumbent  of  a  dull  college-living  in  a  neigh- 
borhood where  his  ability  and  scholarship 
were  very  little  appreciated.     A  year  or  so 


130  The  Church 

before  I  made  his  acquaintance  a  new  church 
had  to  be  consecrated  in  his  district,  and 
Doctor  Tait,  who  had  then  become  primate, 
had  promised  to  perform  the  ceremony, 
which  was  to  be  followed  by  a  great  luncheon 
party  of  local  magnates  in  the  Archbishop's 
honor.  At  this  luncheon  my  friend  happened 
to  sit  next  a  rather  thick-headed  and  exceed- 
ingly consequential  squire,  who  was  by 
way  of  treating  him  somewhat  cavalierly, 
while  one  or  two  places  off  was  seated  the 
Archbishop. 

The  old  clergyman,  who  resented  being 
thus  rated  as  a  negligible  quantity,  deter- 
mined to  impress  his  " off-hand"  neighbor 
by  speaking  of  the  Primate  in  a  manner 
that  implied  some  sort  of  previous  acquaint- 
ance, a  pretension  which  the  Squire  greeted 
with  disdainful  incredulity.  "And  where,' ' 
he  exclaimed,  raising  his  voice  with  a  decid- 
edly " superior"  inflection,  "were  you  so 
fortunate  as  to  make  his  grace's  acquaint- 
ance ?  " 


A  Graceful  Tribute  131 

"  At  Oxford,  of  course,  "  replied  the  clergy- 
man rather  irascibly. 

"At  Oxford?  Indeed!"  rejoined  the 
Squire,  still  more  contemptuously.  "Ah, 
well,  although  you  may  remember  the  Arch- 
bishop, I  am  afraid  it  is  hardly  likely  that 
his  grace  will  remember  you!" 

Before  the  affronted  clergyman  could  re- 
tort, the  Archbishop,  who  had  overheard  the 
remark,  bent  forward  from  his  chair  and  said 
to  the  Squire  with  impressive  emphasis: 
"  On  the  contrary,  I  can  assure  you  that  any 
one  who,  as  I  did,  enjoyed  the  privilege  of 

examining  Mr.  for  his  fellowship,  would 

find  it  exceedingly  difficult  to  forget  him." 
The  Squire's  condescension  promptly  shrank 
into  sheepishness,  and  the  delighted  clergy- 
man held  his  head  several  inches  higher  for 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

My  impressions  of  Mrs.  Tait  were  not 
so  favorable.  She  struck  me  as  possessing 
more  than  one  of  the  less  attractive  character- 
istics of  a  headmaster's  wife.     Perhaps  I  was 


132  The  Church 

unduly  prejudiced  by  the  fact  that,  although 
I  was  then  in  the  fifth  form  at  Harrow,  she 
insisted  on  addressing  me  by  my  name  tout 
court,  merely  prefixed  by  the  unflattering 
adjective  of  "little."  Her  invitation,  too, 
had    the    unpleasant    ring    of    a    command. 

"Little   S ,  you  will  remain  to  dinner" — 

a  behest  which,  conveyed  to  me  as  it  was  one 
day  from  an  open  window,  at  a  moment  when 
I  was  endeavoring  to  mix  on  equal  terms 
with  some  older  boys,  was  particularly  in- 
censing. Aflame  with  offended  dignity,  I 
haughtily  replied  that  I  was  afraid  I  was 
engaged,  and  stalked  off  to  the  stables  for 
my  pony  almost  to  the  consternation  of  the 
obsequious  domestic  chaplain. 

Perhaps,  however,  my  worst  moment  with 
Mrs.  Tait  was  one  evening  when  I  arrived 
at  a  juvenile  party  somewhat  too  punctually, 
and  on  being  ushered  into  the  drawing-room 
found  the  formidable  palace  chatelaine  its  sole 
occupant.  A  more  terrible  five  minutes  I 
have  never  been  fated  to  pass.     Jowett  tete- 


A  Formidable  Hostess  133 

a-tete  with  a  freshman  could  not  have  been 
more  appalling.  In  vain  I  ventured  upon 
meteorological  banalities;  the  majestic  per- 
sonage remained  severely  monosyllabic.  At 
last,  in  desperation,  I  made  a  frantic  resort 
to  the  argumentum  ad  feminam.  Confront- 
ing me  on  the  wall  was  a  rather  florid  portrait 
of  my  hostess,  from,  I  think,  the  brush  of 
Mr.  Sant,  R.  A.  "  What  a  beautiful  portrait 
that  is!"  I  murmured  faintly.  The  great 
lady  smiled  condescending  assent.  "Is  it 
meant  for  you  ?"  I  fatuously  proceeded, 
emboldened  by  her  tacit  encouragement. 
What  crushing  reply  was  forming  itself  on 
those  august  lips  I  cannot  say,  for  luckily  at 
that  moment  other  guests  were  announced, 
and  I  stole  off,  horrorstruck  at  my  gau- 
cherie,  to  a  distant  part  of  the  room.  But  if 
Mrs.  Tait  was  a  little  exalted  by  her  aggran- 
dizement (tete  montee  was  a  sobriquet  I  heard 
applied  to  her  by  a  caustic  ecclesiastic),  she 
had  no  doubt  many  excellent  qualities  for 
the  wife  of    a  diocesan,    and   was    of   real 


134  The  Church 

service  to  her  husband  both  at  Fulham  and 
at  Lambeth. 

Doctor  Tait's  successor  in  the  see  of  London, 
Doctor  Jackson,  was  an  old  friend  of  my 
family  when  rector  of  St.  James's,  Piccadilly. 
He  was  an  able  and  dignified  prelate  (a  "  first 
class"  man,  by  the  way,  of  Lord  Canning's 
year),  who  commanded  respect,  if  not  popu- 
larity, both  in  his  former  diocese  of  Lincoln 
and  in  London.  In  Lincolnshire  he  succeeded 
an  easy-going  bishop  of  the  old  school,  who 
had  allowed  things  to  drift  after  the  fashion 
of  his  predecessors  till  the  spiritual  condition 
of  that  essentially  sporting  county  had  become 
decidedly  chaotic.  Jackson  came  into  the 
diocese  determined  to  place  things  on  a  more 
modern  footing;  but  he  found  his  work  cut 
out  for  him.  Many  of  his  clergy  resented 
interference  from  a  chief  whose  seat  upon  a 
horse  was  decidedly  open  to  criticism,  and 
I  remember  the  Bishop  himself  telling  me 
with  a  grim  smile  that  down  to  the  last  days 
of  his  Lincoln  episcopate  he  felt  certain  that 


"Squarson"  King  135 

he  was  secretly  credited  with  shooting  foxes. 
One  of  his  most  famous  sporting  parsons  was 
Squire  King,  the  owner  of  Apology,  a  mare 
who  won  the  Oaks;  but  that,  I  think,  took 
place  in  the  more  recent  days  of  Bishop 
Wordsworth,  when  Squire  King  ran  horses 
under  the  pseudonym  of  Mr.  Laund,  a  practice 
to  which  Doctor  Wordsworth  not  unnaturally 
demurred,  much  to  the  parson's  indignation. 
Early  in  Doctor  Jackson's  episcopate  Squire 
King  and  several  other  laisser  aller  divines 
were  bidden  to  set  their  houses,  or  rather 
their  churches,  in  order,  and  to  prepare  for  con- 
firmations and  other  ceremonials  which  had 
for  years  been  almost  a  dead  letter.  Squire 
King  received  this  mandate  with  mingled 
disgust  and  consternation.  However,  there 
was  no  help  for  it,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
a  brother  rector,  also  of  sporting  proclivities, 
he  proceeded  to  rub  up  his  rusty  ecclesiastical 
acquirements  in  preparation  for  the  Bishop's 
dreaded  and,  from  his  point  of  view,  quite 
uncalled-for  incursion.     On  the  eventful  con- 


136  The  Church 

firmation  day  the  candidates  were  all  duly 
assembled  in  the  church,  and  Squire  King, 
supported  by  his  fidus  Achates,  stood  properly 
cassocked,  in  punctilious  readiness  for  his 
diocesan,  who  on  entering  proceeded  up  the 
chancel  in  order  to  take  up  his  post  at  the 
altar.  On  reaching,  however,  the  commun- 
ion rail  and  attempting  to  open  the  wicket, 
the  Bishop  found  it  absolutely  unnegotiable, 
the  fact  being  that  it  had  not  been  opened 
for  years !  The  situation  was  too  much  for 
the  aggrieved  rector.  Putting  up  his  hand 
to  his  mouth,  he  said  to  his  supporter  in  a 
resounding  whisper,  "He'll  have  to  take  to  the 
timber,  Tom ! "  then  leisurely  proceeded  to 
tug  at  the  offending  wicket,  which  finally 
creaked  open,  though  not  before  the  scene 
had  perilously  verged  on  the  comic,  much  to 
the  scandal  of  the  reforming  prelate. 

But  perhaps  one  Parson  Dymoke  (either 
the  champion  or  a  member  of  his  family) 
carried  off  the  palm  for  clerical  "  inertia.' ' 
Some   years    ago    T    took   in   to    dinner   the 


Parson  Dymoke  137 

daughter  of  the  parson's  successor,  and  she 
told  me  the  following  amazing  story:  Her 
father,  on  going  down  to  reconnoiter  his  new 
living,  was  received  by  the  parish  clerk,  an 
extremely  old  man  who  seemed  on  the  brink 
of  second  childhood,  and  from  whom  he  had 
the  greatest  difficulty  in  gleaning  any  infor- 
mation. After  plying  the  parish  Nestor  with 
very  little  effect  for  some  'time,  the  new 
rector  took  his  departure  for  the  station, 
but  he  had  not  gone  many  steps  when  he 
heard  a  feeble,  cracked  old  voice  quavering 
after  him,  "Maister,  maister,  there  be  one 
more  thing  I  wornts  particler  to  axe  yer." 
"Well,  what  is  it?"  responded  the  rector. 
"  I  wornts  to  know  whether  when  you 
comes,  sir,  you  intends  to  take  the  baptisms 
or  shall  Oi?" 

The  rector  at  once  set  the  poor  old  clerk 
down  as  hopelessly  daft,  and  replied  in  a 
half -soothing  tone,  "Come,  come,  my  man; 
I  shall  take  them,  of  course." 

"As  you  will,  sir,"  rejoined  the  old  man. 


138  The  Church 

"I  only  axed,   because  in  old  Sir   'Enery's 
time  i"  allers  did  the  baptisms.'1 

Clergymen  are  not,  as  a  rule,  over  accom- 
modating as  fellow-travelers,  and  my  first 
experience  of  Norway  was  somewhat  embit- 
tered by  the  methods  of  a  rural  dean  who 
had  come  to  Norway  in  search  of  health, 
though  he  was  certainly  the  most  vigorous 
and  voracious  invalid  I  ever  beheld.  It  was 
a  woful  thing  to  be  anticipated  at  meals  by 
the  reverend  gentleman  at  any  " station" 
where  the  commissariat  was  limited.  Claim- 
ing, apparently,  "  benefit  of  clergy,"  he 
invariably  swept  the  board,  watching  with 
malign  exuberance  the  crestfallen  faces  of 
the  hungry  fellow-travelers  he  had  contrived 
to  forestall.  In  addition  to  this  invidious 
practice,  the  holy  man  was  gifted  with  the 
most  offensive  faculty  of  self-assertion  and 
contradiction  that  I  ever  experienced  even 
among  members  of  his  privileged  calling,  to 
say  nothing  of  foisting  upon  us  an  inexhaust- 
ible flow  of  the  stalest  anecdotes,  of  which 


A  Traveling  Tyrant  139 

he  not  infrequently  would  pose  as  the  hero. 
One  of  them  was,  I  recollect,  recounted  as 
an  illustration  of  the  readiness  of  some  people 
to  take  offense,  and  was  told  by  him  in  the 
following  form:  "  I  occasionally  like  to  have 
a  look  at  the  hounds,  and  one  day  in  the 
hunting  season,  as  I  was  seated  on  my  cob 
at  the  coverside,  chatting  with  a  group  of 
sporting  parishioners,  one  of  them,  a  singu- 
larly conceited  and  at  the  same  time  empty- 
headed  individual,  began  to  lament  that, 
while  no  one  around  him  was  afflicted  with  a 
single  gray  hair,  his  whiskers  were  already 
quite  grizzled,  though  his  head  had  curiously 
not  changed  color.  'Don't  you  know  the 
reason,  you  idiot? '  I  said;  'you  use  your  jaws 
so  much  and  your  brains  so  little  ! '  Instead, ' ' 
he  continued,  "of  the  fellow  joining  in  the 
laugh  at  my  harmless  pleasantry,  would  you 
believe  it,  he  actually  never  spoke  to  me 
again ! "  This  was  all  very  well,  but  it  so 
happened  that  a  few  months  later  I  came 
across   "his  harmless   pleasantry"    in    some 


140  The  Church 

jest-book  I  was  turning  over  in  a  dentist's 
waiting-room. 

With  reference  to  personal  jokes,  I  have 
more  than  once  found  that  a  man  resents  a 
joke  against  his  property,  particularly  his 
horses,  even  more  than  one  against  himself. 
For  instance,  I  have  never  been  forgiven  by 
a  country  friend  of  mine  who  was  extremely 
proud  of  a  hunter  whose  knees,  to  my  impar- 
tial eye,  distinctly  suggested  occasional  con- 
tact with  mother  earth.  "  What  do  you  call 
him?"  I  inquired,  by  way  of  avoiding  the 
delicate  sub j  ect  of  the  animal '  s  merits .  ' '  Con- 
fessor/' was  the  reply.  " Confessor?"  I 
ruthlessly  rejoined;  "not,  I  hope,  because  he 
is  so  often  on  his  knees. "  I  was  not  asked 
to  prolong  my  visit  at  that  country  house, 
nor  have  I  ever  been  invited  to  renew 
it.  Again,  a  late  noble  lord  never  quite 
recovered  the  retort  of  a  hunting  friend 
whom  he  had  asked  to  look  at  some  horses 
of  his  that  were  on  view  at  Tattersall's. 
"Well,    did  you   see  my  horses?"    inquired 


Unpalatable  Pleasantries  141 

the  owner.  "No,"  rejoined  his  friend,  "but 
I  heard  them  !  " 

But  to  return  to  my  traveling  companion. 
One  of  his  party  was  an  amiable  and  really 
invalided  brother,  utterly  unlike  him  in 
appearance,  thin,  pale,  and  subdued,  whom 
he  treated  with  a  deplorable  lack  of  con- 
sideration. On  one  occasion,  when,  owing 
to  the  parson's  overweening  confidence  in 
his  own  powers  as  an  amateur  Mr.  Cook, 
only  one  cariole  was  procurable  among  the 
three,  the  clergyman  insisted  on  monopoliz- 
ing it  during  a  hilly  stage  of  quite  a  dozen 
miles,  at  the  end  of  which  his  unfortunate 
brother  came  staggering  in  more  dead  than 
alive,  while  the  parson  drove  up  in  his  cariole, 
serene  and  rosy  and  as  fresh  as  when  he 
started. 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  rather  done  up," 
I  sympathetically  remarked  to  the  unhappy 
brother.  "That  fellow  will  be  the  death 
of  me,"  he  gasped,  looking  with  rueful  pallor 
at    his    burly    oppressor.     "  Oh,   nonsense !" 


142  The  Church 

laughed  the  latter  with  rollicking  gusto;  "  do 
you  all  the  good  in  the  world,  my  dear  chap ; 
but  as  for  me,"  he  continued,  suddenly  lapsing 
into  solemnity,  "even  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
over  rough  ground  would  most  probably 
prove  fatal  to  me.  I  have  never  had  the 
proper  use  of  my  limbs  since  I  caught  a 
kind  of  plague  at  the  funeral  of  a  pauper 
parishioner.  But,"  he  added,  unctuously 
upturning  his  beady  little  eyes,  "it  is  the 
will  of  God;  I  do  not  murmur!"  When  I 
read  of  the  death  of  the  much-put-upon 
brother  less  than  a  year  afterward,  I  wondered 
how  much  longer  his  life  would  have  been 
spared  had  he  refrained  from  accompanying 
his  " stricken  relative"  on  a  tour  of  health. 
One  of  our  party  on  this  particular  route 
was  an  easy-going,  amiable  American  who 
had  decided  to  accompany  us  to  Bergen 
and  thence  home.  One  morning,  however, 
before  it  was  light  he  entered  our  room  and 
intimated  his  intention  of  not  proceeding 
any  farther.     "  But,"  we  urged,  "  you'll  have 


A  Mysterious  Ailment  143 

to  retrace  your  steps  at  least  two  hundred 
miles,  and  alone."  "I  can't  help  that,"  he 
replied  dismally;  "I  would  retrace  them, 
even  if  it  were  to  the  north  pole,  to  get 
quit  of  that  parson.  If  I  journey  another 
twenty-four  hours  with  him  there'll  be 
murder.  It's  bad  enough  to  be  bilked  of 
one's  food,  but  when,  in  addition,  he  jumps 
down  your  throat  at  every  word  you  say, 
and  bosses  the  show  as  if  the  whole  country 
belonged  to  him,  darn  me  if  I  can  put  up 
with  it  any  longer!"  And  back  he  went. 
At  Bergen,  however,  the  parson  met  his 
match.  He  undertook  to  enlighten  the  table 
at  dinner  on  the  origin  and  ethics  of  national 
costume  in  the  various  countries  of  Europe. 
"In  Switzerland,"  he  declared,  his  capacious 
mouth  stuffed  with  cranberry  tart — "  in 
Switzerland  the  national  attire  is  nearly  always 
black,  in  consequence  of  the  austere  tem- 
perament of  the  inhabitants."  "  Nonsense, 
sir,"  interrupted  a  wall-eyed  man  who  sat 
near,  laying  down  his  spoon  and  fork.     "  Did 


144  The  Church 

you  say  '  nonsense/  sir  ? "  rejoined  the  parson, 
with  a  kind  of  turkey  cock  gobble.  "  I  did, 
sir,"  rejoined  the  wall-eyed  man,  "and  I 
repeat  it.  What  you  said  was  sheer  non- 
sense." "I  am  sure  my  young  friend  here," 
retorted  the  clerical  tyrant,  eying  me  rather 
solicitously,  "will  agree  with  me  that  the 
mental  characteristics  of  a  nation  have  no 
small  influence  on  its  costume."  "Rubbish, 
sir,"  contemptuously  rejoined  the  wall-eyed 
man;  "  I  am  sure  that  these  young  gentlemen 
will  agree  to  no  such  thing,  and  I  am  sur- 
prised that  a  person  of  some  education,  as 
you  presumably  are,  should  commit  yourself 
to  such  an  absurdity."  "I  think,"  said  the 
parson,  with  an  air  of  seraphic  superiority, 
as  we  maintained  a  delighted  silence — "I 
think  that  if  there  is  no  other  course  I  will 
go  and  look  at  the  newspapers."  "I  hate 
parsons,"  observed  the  wall-eyed  man  trium- 
phantly as  the  door  closed  on  his  vanquished 
foe.  "  Besides,  that  fellow  got  helped  first  to 
everything     and   left   nothing   for    anybody 


Catching  a  Tartar  145 

else";  a  complaint  which,  after  three  weeks* 
experience,  we  knew  to  be  only  too  well 
founded. 

The  old  race  of  parsons  is  not,  even  now, 
altogether  extinct.  I  knew  of  one — still,  I 
believe,  the  vicar  of  a  remote  hamlet  in  one 
of  the  southern  counties — who  would  go  any 
distance  for  a  good  dinner,  but  stirring  from 
his  fireside  and  tumbler  of  toddy  to  dispense 
spiritual  consolation  to  a  poor  parishioner, 
even  only  a  mile  distant,  was  quite  another 
matter.  On  one  occasion  a  neighboring  resi- 
dent, not  much  given  to  hospitality,  sent 
for  him  to  administer  the  communion  to  his 
valet,  a  Swiss  Protestant,  who  was  lying  at 
the  point  of  death.  It  was  a  cold  night, 
and  though  the  parson  had  only  to  cross 
two  or  three  fields,  he  ignored  the  summons 
in  favor  of  the  more  pressing  claims  of  a 
pipe  and  whisky-and-water.  In  the  course 
of  the  night  the  poor  Swiss  died,  and  his 
master,  very  properly  indignant,  repaired 
the  next  morning  to  the  vicarage  to  remon- 


146  The  Church 

strate  with  the  negligent  pastor.  "  You  must 
pardon  me  for  saying,"  he  remarked,  as  the 
vicar  received  his  indignant  remonstrances 
with  easy  nonchalance,  "that  in  my  opinion 
you  have  incurred  a  very  great  responsibility 
in  neglecting  to  administer  the  last  rites  of 
the  Church  to  a  dying  man."  "  Pooh  !  pooh  ! " 
testily  retorted  the  man  of  God;  "one  can't 
be  at  everybody's  beck  and  call  after  dinner 
on  a  winter's  night.  Besides,"  he  added 
contemptuously,  "  the  fellow  was  after  all  only 
a  damned  Frenchman ! "  Not  long  after  this 
he  fell  out  on  some  parish  question  with  the 
lord  of  the  manor,  whose  son  and  heir,  a 
squireen  who  divided  his  time  between  field 
sports  and  the  whisky  bottle,  so  provoked  the 
reverend  gentleman  at  a  village  meeting  that 
the  latter,  much  to  the  admiration  of  his 
sporting  parishioners,  proceeded  to  tweak 
his  opponent's  nose,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  highly  unclerical  language.  Retaliatory 
measures  ensued  with  such  energy  that 
eventually  magisterial  intervention  was  in- 


An  Eighteenth-Century  Parson         147 

voked  at  the  county  town,  when  the  reverend 
gentleman  was  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace 
for  six  months,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the 
squireen,  who  had  hoped  for  at  least  a 
heavy  fine,  and  paraded  the  market-place 
proclaiming  that  though  the  bench  might 
let  the  parson  off,  there  was  another  tribunal 
that  would  deal  with  him  less  leniently. 
"  I'll  put  the  Bishop  on  to  'im,"  he  vociferated 
with  a  vengeful  flick  of  his  thong,  very  much 
as  he  might  threaten  to  set  a  terrier  on  to  a 
rat.  "I'll  put  the  Bishop  on  to  'im,  that's 
what  I'll  do."  But  the  Bishop  was  even  more 
unreasonable  than  the  magistrates,  much 
to  the  triumph  of  the  militant  parson,  and 
the  feud  continued  with  unabated  bitterness 
till  one  winter's  afternoon  the  young  squire's 
favorite  black  mare  galloped  up  the  manor- 
house  avenue  with  an  empty  saddle,  her 
owner  having  started  home  from  some  neigh- 
boring carouse  with  a  loose  rein  and  an 
unsteady  hand  on  what  proved  to  be  his  last 
ride.     Poor  fellow!     Both  he  and  his  vicar 


148  The  Church 

had  come  into  the  world  a  century  too  late. 
They  would  have  made  admirable  studies 
for  the  pen  of  Henry  Fielding. 

But  to  revert  to  the  princes  of  the  Church. 
About  thirty  years  ago  I  spent  a  week-end 
at  Farnham,  and  on  the  Sunday  morning, 
a  little  before  the  eleven  o'clock  service, 
encountered  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  a 
stately  looking  old-fashioned  chariot  which 
was  slowly  rumbling  behind  a  pair  of  sleek 
horses  toward  the  church  from  the  direction 
of  the  castle.  Leaning  back  in  the  chariot 
was  a  venerable  figure  with  the  episcopal 
cast  of  countenance  with  which  one  is  familiar 
in  the  Georgian  prints,  courtly,  dignified,  and 
supremely  composed.  I  inquired  of  a  passer- 
by if  he  could  tell  me  who  the  occupant  of 
the  carriage  was,  and  ascertained  that  it  was 
no  other  than  "the  ould  Bishop  Sumner, 
the  Bishop  of  Winchester  as  was."  What 
a  world  of  associations  the  name  called  up ! 
I  was  at  once  taken  back  half  a  century  to 
the  epalaustic  days  of  King  George  the  Fourth 


Bishop  Sumner  149 

and  his  obese  charmer,  the  Marchioness  of 
Conyngham,  who  was  the  founder  of  the 
fortunes  of  the  irreproachable  old  prelate  of 
whom  I  had  just  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse. 
Lady  Conyngham,  who,  albeit  a  royal 
siren  was  not  indifferent  to  her  duties  as  the 
mother  of  a  future  marquis,  had  been  at 
considerable  pains  to  discover  a  suitable 
bear  leader  for  her  eldest  son,  the  Earl  of 
Mountcharles,  who  was  about  to  make  the 
indispensable  "  grand  tour,"  and  she  finally 
fixed  on  a  young  clergyman,  by  name  Sumner, 
of  no  particular  family  or  connections,  but 
strongly  recommended  on  account  of  his 
excellent  character  and  qualities.  The  Earl 
and  his  custodian  accordingly  departed  on 
their  travels,  the  latter  having  particular 
instructions  in  case  of  illness  or  any  untoward 
occurrence  to  communicate  at  once  with  the 
Marchioness  by  means  of  a  special  courier. 
As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  an  awkward  incident 
occurred  quite  early  in  the  tour;  for  during 
a  short  stay  at  Geneva  the    callow    young 


150  The  Church 

nobleman  fell  desperately  m  love  with  a 
pretty  Swiss  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  well-to-do 
resident,  who,  however,  was  wholly  out  of 
the  question  as  father-in-law  to  an  embryo 
marquis.  The  young  clergyman  exerted  all 
his  powers  of  persuasion,  but  to  no  purpose; 
affairs  began  to  look  ominous,  and  he  accord- 
ingly secretly  dispatched  a  letter  to  the 
Marchioness,  explaining  the  situation  and 
asking  for  instructions,  by  special  courier, 
who  was  ordered  to  travel  night  and  day. 
The  messenger  arrived  at  Brighton  in  hot 
haste  and  delivered  his  missive,  which  was 
naturally  read  by  the  Marchioness  with 
feelings  of  the  direst  consternation.  How- 
ever, she  swiftly  decided  on  her  course  of 
action  and  indited  a  reply,  which  was  in- 
trusted to  the  courier  with  instructions  to 
speed  back  to  Geneva  as  fast  as  he  had 
come.  In  the  meantime  the  young  Earl's 
devotion  had  grown  daily  more  ardent,  and 
his  tutor  awaited  the  return  of  the  courier 
with    feverish    anxiety.     At    last    the    long- 


A  Tactful  Tutor  151 

looked-for  answer  arrived.  The  distracted 
clergyman  tore  open  the  letter  and  eagerly 
scanned  the  contents.  The  instructions  were 
terse  and  terribly  to  the  point.  They  con- 
tained only  three  words,  "Marry  her  your- 
self.' '  This  was  a  surprise  indeed,  and  not 
altogether  a  pleasant  one;  but  Mr.  Sumner 
was  a  far-seeing  young  divine,  and  after  a 
brief  consideration  of  all  the  circumstances, 
present  and  future,  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
obey,  and  before  the  end  of  the  week  the 
fascinating  young  Swiss  lady  had  become 
Mrs.  Sumner,  and  before  the  end  of  the  year 
the  accommodating  bear-leader  had  become 
Canon  of  Windsor,  with  the  certain  prospect 
of  a  miter. 

The  mention  of  Lady  Conyngham  recalls 
another  clergyman  who  in  consummate  ob- 
sequiousness even  surpassed  the  famous  court 
chaplain  of  Louis  XIV.  This  worthy,  who 
was  suffering  from  an  insufficiency  of  eccle- 
siastical loaves  and  fishes,  contrived  to  gain 
admission  to  the  Pavilion  Chapel  pulpit  on 


152  The  Church 

some  occasion  when  the  King  was  in  residence 
at  Brighton  in  company  with  Lady  Conyng- 
ham.  His  sermon  was,  needless  to  say,  one 
of  those  jumbles  of  doctrinal  platitudes  and 
profuse  flattery  which  mostly  characterized 
the  royal  preachers  of  that  day.  But  famil- 
iarity is  apt  to  breed  contempt,  even  for 
adulation,  and  finding  the  King's  attention 
beginning  to  wander,  the  preacher  made  an 
attempt  to  recapture  it  with  a  sentence  that 
is  assuredly  unsurpassed  in  the  annals  of 
clerical  subservience.  "  When, ' '  he  proceeded, 
upturning  his  eyes  sanctimoniously  to  the 
chapel  ceiling — "when  we  think  of  the 
heavenly  mansions  " — then  suddenly  pausing, 
he  inclined  his  gaze  to  the  royal  pew  and 
interposed  apologetically,  "or,  I  should  say, 
the  heavenly  pavilions.1'  History  does  not 
record  the  subsequent  career  of  this  holy 
man;  but  if  he  failed  to  profit  by  this  super- 
lative interjection  the  ingratitude  of  princes 
deserves  even  stronger  reprehension  than  it 
has  hitherto  incurred. 


Consummate  Sycophancy  153 

In  refreshing  contrast  to  this  incident  is 
one  recorded  of  Lord  Thurlow  in  reference 
to  another  Brighton  sermon.  He  was  walk- 
ing on  the  Steyne  with  the  Prince  of  Wales 
when  they  were  met  by  the  Bishop  of  St. 
Asaph,  an  unctuous  prelate  who  at  once 
besought  the  royal  attendance  for  his  sermon 
on  the  following  Sunday.  Assent  was 
graciously  accorded,  and,  flusried  with  his 
success,  the  Bishop  incautiously  turned  to 
Lord  Thurlow  and  expressed  a  hope  that 
he  would  also  honour  him  with  his  presence. 
"No,"  growled  the  savage  old  lord,  who 
affected  religion  but  little  and  bishops  still 
less;  "I  hear  enough  of  your  damned  non- 
sense in  the  House  of  Lords,  where  I  can 
answer  you,  and  it's  not  likely  I'm  going 
to  listen  to  it  in  church,  where  I  can't ! " 

But  the  present  day  has  been  able  to 
produce  an  example  of  clerical  time-serving 
which  will  bear  comparison  with  any  recorded 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  It  is  narrated 
in  one  of  the  published  letters  of  the  late 


154  The  Church 

Dean  Merivale,  and  as  it  has  been  curiously 
overlooked  by  the  majority  of  readers,  I 
venture  to  reproduce  it  here.  The  Dean 
relates  that,  although  not  much  given  to 
using  " special"  prayers  in  the  cathedral 
services,  he  made  an  exception  at  the  time 
when  General  Gordon's  life  was  hanging 
on  a  thread,  and  conceiving  that  there  could 
be  no  possible  objection,  took  the  step 
without  consulting  any  of  his  chapter.  On 
the  following  day,  however,  he  received  an 
indignant  protest  from  one  of  the  canons, 
who  complained  that  if  the  fact  came  to 
Mr.  Gladstone's  ears  it  might  have  a  very 
prejudicial  effect  on  the  promotion  of  himself 
and  his  colleagues.  So  shocking  an  instance 
of  calculating  worldliness  on  the  part  of  a 
so-called  "  servant  of  God"  is  probably 
unique.  It  places  even  Samuel  Wilberforce 
on  a  pinnacle,  though  that  versatile  prelate's 
diary  discloses  a  degree  of  mundane  ambition, 
to  say  nothing  of  envy,  hatred  and  unchar- 
itableness,  which  is  far  from  edifying  reading. 


Bishop  Wilberforce  155 

His  lordship's  admirers  were  greatly  disturbed 
at  the  manner  in  which  the  diaries  were 
edited,  or  rather  unedited,  and  one  of  them, 
the  late  Lord  Granville  (who  was  riding 
with  the  Bishop  when  he  met  with  his  fatal 
accident),  remonstrated  with  Mr.  Reginald 
Wilberforce  on  his  injudicious  way  of  deal- 
ing with  his  father's  journals.  "  You  must 
pardon  me,"  he  said,  "for  remarking  that 
by  quoting  so  indiscriminately  from  your 
father's  diaries  you  have  done  his  memory 
a  very  great  injustice."  "Oh,"  the  Bishop's 
uncompunctious  first-born  is  said  to  have 
replied,  "  if  your  lordship  only  knew  what 
I  have  left  out ! "  The  innuendo  (filial  piety 
is  not  always  a  strong  point  with  the  off- 
spring of  spiritual  celebrities)  was  probably 
well  enough  founded,  for  the  Bishop  was 
credited  with  many  unrepeatable  witticisms 
and  anecdotes,  certain  of  which  may  have 
found  a  place  in  his  diary.  He  was,  in 
truth,  more  a  political  ecclesiastic  of  the 
Talleyrand  type  than  an  English  nineteenth- 


156  The  Church 

century  bishop;  and  had  he  been  a  French- 
man in  the  pre-Revolutionary  days  he  would 
probably,  like  Talleyrand,  have  abjured  the 
episcopal  purple  for  a  minister's  portfolio. 
His  wit  and  eloquence  were  undeniable, 
but  he  had  qualities  which  enabled  him  to 
adapt  himself  to  any  company.  When  I 
was  a  small  boy  I  chanced  to  stay  with  my 
parents  at  a  country  house  near  Romsey, 
where  Bishop  Wilberforce  and  Dean  Hook 
had  just  preceded  us  as  guests,  and  I  re- 
member the  following  riddles  were  circulated 
as  having  been  propounded  by  the  Bishop 
to  the  young  ladies  of  the  house  after  dinner. 
The  first  he  had  asked  in  a  tone  of  simulated 
solemnity  which  put  his  fair  friends  entirely 
off  the  scent:  "What  does  the  Sun  in  his 
glory  say  to  the  Rose  in  her  bashfulness  ? " 
Every  sort  of  poetical  solution  was  suggested, 
but  in  vain,  and  at  last  the  Bishop,  suddenly 
changing  his  voice,  supplied  the  banal  answer : 
"  You  be  blowed ! "  The  next  riddle  involved 
his    fellow-guest,    Doctor    Hook,    and    was 


Episcopal  Conundrums  157 

again  addressed  to  the  young  ladies:  "What 
articles  of  feminine  attire  do  a  couple  of 
church  dignitaries  now  present  typify?" 
Again  the  problem,  after  innumerable  guesses, 
was  given  up,  and  the  Bishop  chucklingly 
solved  it  with  the  following  answer:  "Hook 
and  eye  [I]."  I  think  it  was  after  this 
very  visit  that  he  proceeded  to  pay  that 
memorable  one  to  Lord  Palmefston  at  Broad- 
lands,  in  the  course  of  which  the  distinguished 
pair  bandied  couplets  so  felicitously  out  of 
Tate  and  Brady.  By  repeating  the  incident 
I  shall  probably  incur  the  charge  of  "chest- 
nutting,"  but  as  it  is  not  so  well  known  as 
many  of  the  Wilberforce  stories  I  will  venture 
to  narrate  it  for  the  benefit  of  the  uninitiated. 
Palmerston  and  the  Bishop  were  not  particu- 
larly fond  of  one  another  (indeed,  the  Bishop's 
animosity  against  Palmerston  as  a  supposed 
"spoker  of  his  wheel"  was  at  times  sadly 
unchristian),  but  the  tolerant  old  minister 
could  on  occasion  put  up  with  even  a  virulent 
churchman,    provided    he    was    witty,    and 


158  The  Church 

the  Bishop  was  accordingly  invited  to  spend 
a  week-end  at  the  well-known  Hampshire 
seat.  On  the  Sunday  the  weather  looked 
threatening,  and  Palmerston  proposed  that 
they  should  drive  to  church.  Wilberforce, 
however,  insisted  that  it  would  not  rain,  and 
preferred  to  walk,  while  his  host  expressed 
his  intention  of  driving.  Accordingly,  the 
Bishop  started  on  foot,  and  after  a  few 
minutes,  sure  enough,  down  came  the  rain. 
When  it  had  settled  into  a  steady  downpour 
Palmerston's  brougham  came  up,  and  Pam., 
putting  his  head  out  of  the  window,  ex- 
claimed, with  roguish  triumph: 

"How  blest  is  he  who  ne'er  consents 
By  ill  advice  to  walk." 

The  Bishop,  however,  was  equal  to  him, 
for  he  instantly  retorted: 

"  Nor  stands  in  sinners'  ways,  nor  sits 
Where  men  profanely  talk." 

Any  one  who  saw  "  Soapy  Sam "  in  the 
saddle  could  not  have  been  greatly  surprised 
to  hear  of  his  fatal  fall.     He  had  an  essentially 


Palmerston  and  Wilberforce  159 

bad  seat,  and  was  given  to  riding  with  a  loose, 
uneven  rein  which,  when  a  horse  is  cantering 
down  hill  over  rough  ground,  naturally  invites 
disaster.  I  used  often  to  wonder  that  more 
episcopal  necks  were  not  broken  when  I 
beheld  the  "  Black  Brigade"  taking  their 
exercise  in  the  evening  "Row,"  a  function, 
alas !  long  since  fallen  into  desuetude.  One 
evening  as  I  was  walking  in  the  Row  with  an 
old  Harrow  friend,  R.  B.  Place,  of  the  Horse 
Artillery,  Wilberforce  and  one  or  two  other 
bishops  passed  us  mounted  on  particularly 
clever-looking  cobs,  while  immediately  after 
them  came  a  procession  of  Semitic  financiers, 
also  excellently  horsed.  "Why,  the  Jews 
and  the  bishops  are  better  mounted  than  any 
one  in  the  Row!"  I  remarked.  "How  did 
they  manage  to  pick  up  such  good-looking 
hacks?"  "Oh,  by  hook  or  by  crook"  replied 
Place,  with  a  significant  glance  at  the  nasal 
conformation  of  one  of  the  Hebrew  Croesuses. 
Place,  by  the  way,  was  the  gayest  and  most 
promising  of  "gunners,"  who,  had  he  lived, 


160  The  Church 

would  assuredly  have  done  signal  credit  to 
his  old  school,  to  which  he  was  devotedly 
attached.  He  died  quite  early  in  India,  of 
cholera;  but  so  remarkable  an  appreciation 
did  his  commanding  officer  write  home  of 
him  that,  although  he  had  not  fallen  in 
action,  Doctor  Butler  (who  read  the  letter  to 
the  sixth  form)  made  an  exception  in  his  case, 
and  sanctioned  the  erection  of  a  memorial 
to  him  in  the  school  chapel.  Place,  though 
the  keenest  of  soldiers,  had  also  great  literary 
gifts,  and  was,  I  believe,  one  of  the  very 
few  capable  of  writing  a  sympathetic  and  dis- 
criminating memoir  of  Shelley,  to  which  at 
the  time  of  his  death  he  was  devoting  all  his 
leisure.  To  see  him  at  a  supper  of  "The 
Windsor  Strollers/'  or  chaffing  old  school- 
fellows at  Lord's,  or  riding  awkward  customers 
in  the  regimental  races,  one  would  never  have 
suspected  the  existence  of  this  deeper  vein; 
but,  in  the  opinion  of  those  who  were  com- 
petent to  form  a  correct  judgment,  his 
fragmentary     work     revealed     the     highest 


A  Shelley  Student  161 

promise,  and  Shelley  literature  is  unques- 
tionably the  poorer  by  his  premature  death. 
But  .to  return  to  Wilberforce.  Much  has 
been  said  about  his  successful  encounters 
with  Lord  Westbury;  but  on  the  whole  it 
was  generally  considered  that  the  Chancellor 
did  not  get  the  worst  of  it,  while  the  castiga- 
tion  which  the  Bishop  received  from  Huxley 
would  have  humbled  a  less  arrogant  man 
for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  He  had,  in 
truth,  very  little  of  the  intellectual  pure 
metal  which  certain  of  his  partizans  claimed 
for  him,  being  far  more  an  example  of  that 
" sounding  brass  and  tinkling  cymbal"  which 
arrest  the  ear  but  fail  to  convince  the  mind. 
The  unerring  perception  of  the  Prince  Consort 
soon  rated  Wilberforce  at  his  proper  level, 
and  it  was  the  prejudice  against  him  which 
the  Prince  created  in  the  mind  of  Queen 
Victoria  that  saved  England  the  indignity, 
if  not  the  scandal,  of  having  this  supple  and 
self-seeking  ecclesiastic  placed  at  the  head 
of   the   Church.     Some   of  his   defects  were 


162  The  Church 

probably  hereditary;  for  his  father,  the 
"  obscure  and  plebeian  Wilberforce  "  (as  Lord 
Rosebery  has  correctly  but  cruelly  described 
him),  though  possessing  many  estimable 
qualities,  was  undoubtedly  something  of  a 
humbug.  I  shall  never  forget  the  shock 
with  which  I  read  in  William  Jer dan's 
autobiography  of  the  astonishing  discovery 
made  by  Jerdan  in  taking  over  some  house 
in  Brompton  which  old  Wilberforce  was 
relinquishing.  Wilberforce  asked  Jerdan  as 
a  favor  to  allow  him  a  little  time  for  the 
removal  of  his  wine,  which  it  was  incon- 
venient to  transfer  at  the  expiration  of  his 
tenancy.  Jerdan  was  a  little  surprised  that 
so  fervent  an  apostle  of  temperance  should 
pollute  his  house  with  any  wine  at  all;  but 
his  surprise  developed  into  sheer  amazement 
when,  on  the  cellar  being  emptied  later  on, 
he  beheld  the  choicest  and  most  varied 
collection  of  vintages  it  had  ever  been  his 
fortune  to  set  eyes  on.  This,  and  the  dis- 
enchantment   occasioned    by    Wilberforce' s 


Benjamin  Jowett  163 

authentic  last  words,  "  I  think  I  could  eat 
another  slice  of  that  veal  pie,"  have,  perhaps 
unreasonably,  not  a  little  impaired  my  ven- 
eration for  the  emancipator  of  the  blacks 
and  the  would-be  reclaimer  of  Richard 
Brinsley  Sheridan. 

The  famous  ''Imaginary  Conversations " 
of  Walter  Savage  Landor  would  be  difficult 
to  imitate,  but  Mr.  W.  H.  'Mallock  or  Mr. 
Andrew  Lang  might  attempt  an  effective 
"modern  series,"  in  which  a  conversation 
between  Doctor  Samuel  Wilberforce  and 
Professor  Benjamin  Jowett  could  be  made 
supremely  attractive.  Had  Wilberforce  lived 
rather  longer  he  would  probably  have  been 
found,  like  many  another  of  Jowett' s  former 
persecutors,  partaking  of  the  cosmopolitan 
hospitality  for  which  the  heretical  Professor 
was  so  famous.  Somebody  wittily  observed 
that  in  his  eagerness  to  entertain  lions 
Jowett  welcomed  even  those  that  had  done 
their  best  to  tear  him  to  pieces ;  and  once  mas- 
ter of  Balliol,  in  appearance  at  all  events,  he 


1 64  The  Church 

sank  any  resentment  he  may  have  felt  against 
Tait  and  others  of  his  spiritual  arraigners. 

Much  has  been  written  about  him  since 
his  death,  notably  by  his  accredited  biog- 
raphers, Messrs.  Abbot  and  Campbell,  but 
I  venture  to  think  not  always  judiciously. 
His  conversation  and  correspondence  have 
assuredly  received  scant  justice,  and  if  the 
world  had  been  favored  with  more  of  his 
mots  and  fewer  of  his  letters  to  "  pet "  ladies 
— compositions  mostly  characterized  by  the 
purr,  without  the  compensating  quality  of 
William  Cowper — the  master  would  have 
been  more  easily  recognized  by  his  former 
friends  and  pupils.  Neither  have  the 
attempts  of  his  biographers  to  explain  his 
attitude  in  religious  matters  been  particularly 
fortunate.  It  was,  in  truth,  quite  as  nebulous 
as  that  of  Frederick  Maurice,  while  his 
sermons,  even  in  Westminster  Abbey,  were 
little  more  than  Socratic  lectures  sandwiched 
between  a  couple  of  collects.  But  whatever 
his   faith,   he   was   inherently   a   great   and, 


Benjamin  Jowett  165 

on  the  whole,  a  just  ruler,  who  devoted 
not  only  all  his  energies,  but  a  large  portion 
of  his  means,  to  promoting  the  welfare  and 
fame  of  his  college.  If  he  had  a  failing 
worthy  of  the  name,  it  was  a  weakness  for 
those  born  in  the  purple,  which  was  in  some 
degree  accounted  for  by  his  own  rather 
humble  origin;  but  this  was  more  than 
redeemed  by  the  strong  and  unfaltering 
friendship  which  he  always  displayed  for 
genius  in  whatever  station  of  life. 

If  Jowett  had  once  satisfied  himself  that 
a  man  was  worth  backing  there  was  nothing 
he  would  not  do  for  him,  not  only  at  Oxford, 
but  in  many  instances  in  after  life.  But, 
then,  genius  or  very  exceptional  ability 
was  an  indispensable  qualification;  with  the 
mere  plodder  who  pulled  off  his  "  first  class  " 
by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  so  to  speak,  he 
had  little  sympathy,  and  many  a  man  of 
this  caliber  has  felt  keenly  the  indifference 
with  which  he  was  treated  by  the  master. 
Dullness  or  mediocrity  was  in  his  eyes  scarcely 


1 66  The  Church 

atoned  for  by  a  "double  first,"  while  the 
exclusion  of  a  man  of  real  brilliance  from 
the  highest  place  was  to  him  a  matter  of 
very  little  concern.  When  Lewis  Nettleship 
was  only  awarded  a  " second  class"  in  the 
Final  Classical  Schools,  Jowett  received  the 
intelligence  with  the  contemptuous  remark, 
"  H'm !  All  I  can  say  is  that  Mr.  Nettleship 
was  far  more  competent  to  examine  the 
examiners  than  the  examiners  were  to  ex- 
amine Mr.  Nettleship  " ;  while  Arnold  Toynbee, 
whose  health  never  allowed  him  to  appear 
in  any  honor  list,  he  appointed  Tutor  of 
Balliol,  and  at  the  time  of  Toynbee's  death 
was  promoting  his  election  to  a  fellowship. 
Jowett's  friendship  for  Arnold  Toynbee  was 
wholly  admirable.  As  Lord  Milner  has  told 
us  in  his  charming  monograph,  Toynbee 
came  up  to  Oxford  absolutely  unknown, 
entering  at  Pembroke  out  of  deference  to 
the  wishes  of  a  former  tutor  who  had  been 
an  alumnus  of  that  college.  Shortly  after 
joining   Pembroke,    which   he   found   by   no 


Lewis  Nettleship  167 

means  congenial,  he  competed  for  the  Brack- 
enbury  scholarship,  which  he  failed  to  win, 
gaining,  however,  a  proxime  accessit.  But 
Jowett,  always  on  the  lookout  for  promising 
recruits,  offered  him  rooms  in  the  college, 
which  Toynbee  gladly  accepted,  supposing 
that  his  migration  from  Pembroke  would 
only  be  a  matter  of  form.  The  master  of 
Pembroke,  however,  strongly  resented  this 
kind  of  decoying  on  the  part  of  the  master  of 
Balliol,  and  he  peremptorily  refused  Toynbee 
permission  to  migrate.  Nothing  daunted, 
Jowett  suggested  an  appeal  to  the  Chancellor, 
who,  however,  decided  in  favor  of  the  master 
of  Pembroke.  At  this  stage  an  ordinary 
man  would  have  "  thrown  up  the  sponge," 
but  Jowett  was  indomitable.  He  carefully 
examined  the  statutes,  and  found  that,  under 
the  circumstances,  Toynbee  could  take  his 
name  off  the  books  of  the  university  and 
after  the  lapse  of  a  year  join  any  college  he 
pleased,  his  terms  of  residence  still  being 
allowed  to  count.     Jowett,  accordingly,  ad- 


1 68  The  Church 

vised  Toynbee  to  take  this  course,  promising 
to  admit  him  to  Balliol  as  a  guest  during 
his  year  of  non-membership  of  the  university. 
Toynbee  adopted  this  advice  and  Jowett 
proved  even  better  than  his  word.  So  signal 
an  act  of  friendship  to  an  unknown  and 
almost  untried  man  was  highly  creditable 
to  Jowett,  whose  affection  and  admiration 
for  Toynbee  were  steadily  maintained  to  the 
last.  I  remember  dining  with  Jowett  in  the 
early  eighties,  Toynbee  being  one  of  the 
oddly  assorted  guests,  who  included  Lord 
and  Lady  Bath  as  representing  the  haute 
noblesse  (Lord  Bath  was  an  ex-lord  chamber- 
lain and  had  about  as  much  in  common  with 
Jowett  as  Lord  Suffield  has  with,  say,  Mr. 
John  Morley),  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Goschen,  Lord 
Justice  and  Lady  Bowen,  the  Bodleian 
librarian  and  his  wife,  a  Balliol  don,  and  one 
of  those  dusky  potentates  in  statu  pupillari 
who  were  nearly  always  represented  at  the 
master's  dinners.  The  evening  is  memorable 
to  me  from  a  little  incident  in  connection 


Arnold  Toynbee  169 

with  a  now  world-famous  man,  Lord  Milner. 
As  Toynbee  was  leaving,  Mr.  Goschen  called 
after  him  and  asked  if  he  had  seen  anything 
lately  of  Milner,  who  had  been  Toynbee's 
closest  friend  at  Balliol.  Toynbee  replied 
that  he  had  seen  him  recently,  and  that  he 
was  then  writing  for  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
having  left  the  bar.  ''Left  the  bar!"  ob- 
served Lord  Justice  Bowen  with  incisive 
suavity;  "he  was  only  there  one  day!" 
That  was,  I  think,  in  1882,  and  only  four 
years  later  Milner  (whom  I  think  Mr.  Goschen 
at  the  time  of  Jowett's  dinner  had  only  once 
seen)  was  brought  into  the  treasury  as  the 
new  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer's  right-hand 
man,  thus  gaining  the  first  step  toward 
the  great  position  which  he  now  occupies. 
The  circumstances  connected  with  this 
appointment  of  Mr.  Goschen  to  the  exchequer 
are,  I  have  always  thought,  as  dramatic  as 
any  that  have  occurred  in  English  politics. 
The  principal  actor  was,  of  course,  Lord 
Randolph  Churchill,   who,   intoxicated  with 


170  The  Church 

his  rapid  advancement,  had  resolved  to  try 
his  strength  with  no  less  a  personage  than 
the  Prime  Minister  himself.  "  Uaudace, 
Vaudace,  toujours  Vaudace"  was  his  maxim, 
and  for  a  moment  it  looked  as  if  the  game 
were  going  in  his  favor,  when  he  suddenly- 
played  a  card  which  proved  his  ruin.  That 
is  to  say,  having,  as  he  thought,  reckoned 
with  every  contingency,  he  resigned  office, 
making  certain  that  he  was  indispensable 
to  the  Government,  who  would  be  compelled 
to  supplicate  him  to  return  on  his  own  terms. 
But  just  as  the  great  Liverpool  wheat 
"cornerer"  omitted  from  his  exhaustive  cal- 
culations one  remote  area,  so  it  had  never 
occurred  to  Lord  Randolph  that  a  successor 
to  him  might  be  found  outside  the  ranks 
of  the  Conservative  party.  His  resignation 
was  accepted,  but  he  regarded  that  only 
as  a  matter  of  form,  and  waited,  first  in 
surprise,  then  in  something  like  consternation, 
for  Lord  Salisbury's  humble  petition  to  him 
to    resume    office.     Day    after    day    passed 


A  Dramatic  Incident  171 

and  nothing  came — not  a  messenger,  not 
a  note,  not  a  syllable  of  any  description. 
What  did  it  all  mean?  Could  it  be  possible 
that  he  was  a  "  negligible  quantity,"  and 
that  they  were  going  to  do  without  him, 
after  all?  A  paragraph  in  The  Times  soon 
enlightened  him.  Taking  up  the  paper  at 
breakfast,  the  announcement  met  his  eye 
that  Mr.  Goschen  had  been  offered  and 
accepted  the  post  of  chancellor  of  the  ex- 
chequer lately  resigned  by  Lord  Randolph 
Churchill.  "  By  God!"  he  is  reported  to 
have  exclaimed,  dropping  the  newspaper, 
"  I  had  forgotten  Goschen  ! "  But  for  that 
historic  oversight  Lord  Milner  might  never 
have  had  his  political  chance. 

Jowett,  toward  the  end  of  his  life,  came 
perilously  near  being  a  Jingo,  and  though 
at  one  time  he  dabbled  in  Socialism  and 
posed  as  the  patron  of  trades  unions  and 
combinations,  a  certain  event  in  which  those 
methods  ran  seriously  counter  to  his  plans 
and    convenience    cured    him    finally    of    all 


172  The  Church 

tendencies  in  that  direction.  This  was 
nothing  less  than  a  workman's  strike  during 
the  erection  of  the  new  Balliol  buildings, 
which  were  under  contract  to  be  finished  by 
a  particular  date,  and  Jowett,  relying  on  their 
punctual  completion,  had  fixed  the  day  and 
issued  invitations  to  all  the  great  Balliol 
alumni  for  the  opening  ceremony.  To  his 
consternation,  when  the  day  fixed  for  com- 
pletion was  approaching,  the  workmen 
adopted  the  form  of  redress  hitherto  approved 
by  the  master,  and  struck  to  a  man.  In  a 
moment  all  his  sympathy  with  the  tyrannized 
employed  was  sent  to  the  winds.  Recanting 
the  gospel  of  discontent,  he  vigorously 
preached  that  of  obedience  to  obligation 
and  humble  allegiance  to  the  law  of  contract, 
and  from  that  day  forward  regarded  the 
British  workman  with  even  less  favor  than 
he  did  the  average  undergraduate.  Take 
him,  however,  altogether,  he  was  a  truly 
great  man,  only  disfigured  by  an  extravagant 
veneration    for    the    augustly    born.     It    is 


Jowett's  Socialism  173 

pitiable  to  reflect  that  the  almost  inspired 
interpreter  of  Plato  should  have  demeaned 
himself  by  penning  two  columns  of  encomium 
on  a  ducal  nonentity.  But  such,  alas  !  is  too 
often  the  attitude  of  the  "  aristocracy  of 
intellect"  to  the  "  aristocracy  of  accident." 
Lord  Milner's  career,  by  the  way,  has  been 
in  many  ways  remarkable,  He  received  his 
early  education  in  Germany,  where  his  father, 
an  Englishman,  held  a  professorship  in  one 
of  the  universities.  Thence  he  migrated  to 
King's  College,  London  (where,  I  think,  he 
first  became  acquainted  with  Arnold  Toynbee) , 
proceeding  later  on  to  Balliol,  to  the  master- 
ship of  which  college  Jowett  had  a  year  or 
two  before  succeeded.  At  Balliol  he  rapidly 
acquired  a  brilliant  reputation  for  scholarship, 
gaining  nearly  every  university  distinction 
with  surprising  ease,  and  crowning  his  achieve- 
ments with  a  fellowship  of  New.  On  leaving 
Oxford,  he  decided,  probably  on  Jowett's 
advice,  to  adopt  the  bar  as  a  profession,  on 
which    he    embarked,    equipped   necessarily 


174  The  Church 

with  the  well-endowed  Eldon  and  Derby 
scholarships,  usually  conferred  on  the  fore- 
most man  of  the  year  who  has  elected  to 
cast  in  his  lot  with  the  law.  But  Milner 
soon  found  his  chosen  vocation  eminently 
distasteful.  Possibly  it  might  have  been 
otherwise  had  he  selected  the  chancery 
branch,  but  for  some  reason  he  had  fixed  on 
the  common-law  bar,  which,  much  impressed 
by  Lord  Bowen's  great  success  in  that  depart- 
ment, Jowett  was  apt  to  suggest  as  the 
shorter  road  to  distinction.  But  to  Milner's 
quality  of  mind  common  law  intricacies 
and  technicalities  were  peculiarly  repugnant, 
while  the  prospect  of  spending  the  best  part 
of  his  life  in  cajoling  British  juries  soon 
became  positively  intolerable.  Accordingly, 
a  few  months'  not  very  assiduous  attendance 
at  chambers  and,  I  believe,  a  single  experience 
of  circuit,  sufficed  to  convince  him  that  he 
had  mistaken  his  vocation,  from  which  he 
retreated  with  unmistakable  relief  into  the 
far  more  congenial  atmosphere  of  journalism. 


Lord  Milner's  Career  175 

But  although  welcomed  by  John  Morley  as  a 
promising  recruit  to  the  staff  of  the  Pall  Mall, 
oddly  enough  Milner  never  attained  any  very 
conspicuous  rank  as  a  leader  writer,  and  in 
the  opinion  of  many  of  his  friends  he  seemed 
at  this  period  to  be  in  considerable  danger 
of  missing  his  mark  in  life  altogether.  But 
fortunately  for  him  the  replacement  of  Mr. 
Morley  by  Mr.  Stead  produced  changes  in 
the  conduct  and  tone  of  the  paper  which 
determined  Milner  to  withdraw  from  the 
staff,  and  the  general  election  of  1885  hap- 
pening to  take  place  just  at  that  time,  he 
boldly  made  a  fresh  departure  by  offering 
himself  as  one  of  the  Liberal  candidates  for 
Middlesex,  where,  however,  he  was  signally 
defeated.  So  far,  considering  his  brilliant 
abilities  and  the  great  things  that  had  been 
predicted  of  him,  his  career  had  been  dis- 
appointing. For  nearly  ten  years  (he  took 
his  degree,  I  think,  in  1876)  he  had  "hung 
fire,"  and  even  after  Mr.  Goschen  took  him 
by  the  hand  and  enabled  him  to  make  his 


176  The  Church 

first  real  start,  few  anticipated  that  he  would 
attain  more  than  a  high  rung  on  the  "  official " 
ladder.  His  excellent  work  in  Egypt,  and 
the  admirable  book  that  was  the  outcome 
of  his  experiences  there,  secured  for  him,  no 
doubt,  considerable  prestige,  but  the  promo- 
tion to  which  it  led — the  chairmanship  of  the 
Board  of  Inland  Revenue — is  usually  regarded 
as  the  final  stage  in  successful  "  officialism,' ' 
and  it  was  generally  considered  that  with  that 
snug  appointment  and  its  usual  accessory — 
a  red  ribbon — Milner  would  have  to  rest  con- 
tented. Fortunately,  however,  in  this  ordi- 
narily uneventful  sphere  he  was  afforded  an 
exceptional  opportunity  of  proving  his  capac- 
ity, being  entrusted  by  Sir  William  Harcourt, 
then  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  with  the 
financial  compilation  of  his  drastic  "  Death 
Duties"  statutes,  an  undertaking  which  he 
accomplished  with  conspicuous  success.  Still, 
hitherto  his  laurels  as  a  public  functionary 
had  been  won  exclusively  in  the  sphere  of 
finance,  and  when  in  1897  he  was  selected 


Lord  Duff  erin  177 

to  succeed  Lord  Rosmead  in  that  cemetery 
of  reputation,  South  Africa,  the  appointment 
was  unquestionably  a  surprise  even  to  those 
who  were  most  impressed  with  his  merits. 
One  very  distinguished  administrator,  who 
had  the  highest  opinion  of  his  financial  capac- 
ity, expressed  a  very  decided  opinion  that  he 
was  not  the  man  for  the  post,  and  it  must  be 
owned  that  in  the  matter  of  diplomacy — a 
sphere  in  which  the  new  High  Commissioner 
had  practically  had  no  experience — these 
misgivings  have  not  been  wholly  unjustified. 
But  in  other  respects  Lord  Milner  must  be 
credited  with  as  much  success  as  was  attain- 
able under  conditions  of  unprecedented  diffi- 
culty, while  his  well-deserved  honors,  borne 
with  the  unaffected  modesty  that  has  always 
been  one  of  his  many  charms,  but  poorly 
compensated  for  the  stupendous  toil  and 
anxiety  that  have  been  his  incessant  lot  for 
the  last  six  years. 

I  have  often  wondered  whether  the  course 
of  events  in  South  Africa  would  have  been 


178  The  Church 

different  if  it  had  been  possible  for  the  late 
Lord  Dufferin  to  assume  the  high  commis- 
sionership  in  succession  to  Lord  Rosmead. 
President  Kruger  was  probably  proof  against 
all  diplomacy,  however  consummate,  but  Lord 
Dufferin  had  more  than  once  prevailed  over 
even  the  most  rigid  opposition.  A  friend  of 
mine,  formerly  the  colonel  of  an  Indian 
cavalry  regiment,  told  me  that  he  was  on 
escort  duty  on  the  memorable  occasion  when 
the  Ameer  of  Afghanistan  came  into  Nawal 
Pindee  for  a  state  conference  with  Lord 
Dufferin,  then  Viceroy  of  India.  "I  was  on 
duty,"  said  my  friend,  "  when  the  Ameer  rode 
in,  and  a  more  sullen,  unaccommodating  coun- 
tenance than  he  presented  I  had  never 
beheld.  Shortly  afterward  the  conference 
began,  when  he  and  Lord  Dufferin  held  a 
prolonged  parley,  no  one  else  being  present. 
At  the  end  of  the  conference,"  continued 
the  Colonel,  "  I  was  again  on  duty,  and 
saw  the  Ameer  come  out.  I  could  hardly 
believe    it   was    the    same    man.     As   if   by 


A  Welcome  Apology  179 

magic  the  sullen  frowns  had  been  transformed 
into  beaming  smiles,  and  the  understanding 
then  arrived  at  by  Lord  DufTerin's  superb 
diplomacy  was  productive  of  benefits  that 
are  felt  in  India  to  this  day." 

But  a  peculiarly  ingratiating  manner  was 
of  course  a  valuable  adjunct  to  Lord  DufTerin's 
diplomatic  dexterity.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
find  the  man,  high  or  low,  who  did  not  leave 
his  presence  thoroughly  captivated  by  his 
rare  courtesy  and  charm.  The  following 
incident  will  explain  the  reach  of  his  almost 
unique  popularity.  A  friend  of  mine,  an 
able  young  Oxford  man,  was  some  years  ago 
acting  as  traveling  tutor  to  a  certain  youth- 
ful peer  who  was  making  a  tour  around  the 
world.  At  Calcutta  they  were  the  guests  of 
Lord  Dufferin  (then  Viceroy),  to  whom  they 
had  letters  of  introduction.  After  a  most 
enjoyable  stay  they  proceeded  on  their 
journey,  and  some  two  or  three  months  after- 
ward found  themselves  again  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  vice-regal   court,  which   was 


180  The  Church 

making  a  " progress"  through  a  certain 
district  of  the  country.  They  were  accord- 
ingly invited  to  some  court  function,  where, 
as  is  the  custom,  all  the  guests  ranged  them- 
selves in  two  lines,  between  which  the  Viceroy 
slowly  passed,  exchanging  greetings  with  any 
that  he  happened  personally  to  know.  My 
friend,  the  young  tutor,  who  was  stationed 
at  about  the  middle  of  one  of  the  long  lines, 
separated  from  his  charge,  was,  much  to  his 
disappointment,  passed  by  the  Viceroy  with- 
out recognition,  but  he  was  soon  consoled. 
When  Lord  Dufferin  reached  the  end  of  the 
line  he  turned  round,  and  after  glancing 
back  for  a  moment  in  the  direction  of  the 
tutor,  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  spot  where 
he  was  standing  and,  putting  out  his  hand, 
apologized  for  having  at  the  moment  failed 
to  recognize  him.  A  more  perfect  example 
of  high  breeding  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
word  it  would  be  impossible  to  find. 

Again,  Lord  Dufferin  was  always  the  kindest 
and  most  considerate  encourager  of  literary 


Mr.  Ruskin  181 

work,  however  young  and  unknown  the 
author.  I  have  before  me  at  this  moment 
a  letter  of  his,  written  to  a  youthful  poetaster 
(whose  verses  had  been  sent  to  him  by  an 
acquaintance),  in  which  the  generous  praise 
and  gracefully  tempered  criticism  present  a 
charming  contrast  to  the  few  lines  of  formal 
acknowledgment  that  are  usually  accorded 
to  unknown  writers. 

For  such  a  man  it  is  not  surprising  that 
the  nation  should  have  felt  a  regret  more 
poignant  than  has  been  evoked  by  the  death 
of  any  statesman  since  the  days  of  Palmerston. 

I  have  alluded  to  Mr.  Ruskin  in  connection 
with  Howell,  whom  I  remember  flitting 
gracefully  "at  the  wings"  of  the  Royal 
Institution  on  one  of  the  famous  Friday 
evenings,  when  the  illustrious  art-critic 
delivered  a  supremely  fascinating  but  dis- 
cursive address  on,  I  think,  Gothic  archi- 
tecture. In  the  course  of  this  lecture  he 
recited  with  singular  effect,  in  spite  of  his 
curious    half-Scotch    intonation,    Sir  Walter 


1 82  The  Church 

Scott's  "Lay  of  Lovely  Rosabello,"  enunci- 
ating every  line  in  a  way  which  many  of  our 
fashionable  unpunctuating  reciters  would  do 
well  to  imitate. 

More  than  one  friend  of  mine  belonged 
to  Ruskin's  famous  gang  of  undergraduate 
"  diggers  "  on  the  Hincksey  road  near  Oxford, 
and  one  of  the  professor's  mementoes  at 
Brantwood  was  the  spade  used  by  Arnold 
Toynbee,  who  was  among  the  earliest  and 
most  ardent  of  the  "  diggers. "  Another 
friend  of  considerable  eminence,  long  since 
deceased,  was  an  occasional  correspondent 
of  Ruskin,  one  of  whose  highly  characteristic 
letters  which  lately  came  into  my  possession 
I  will  venture  to  transcribe,  as  it  will  not 
appear  in  any  of  the  published  series: 

"  Denmark  Hill,  February  8,  1866. 

"  My  dear  Sir:  I  am  heartily  obliged  by  your 

letter   and   particularly   glad   that   you   like 

that    piece    about    human    nature.     I    shall 

speak  more  and  more  strongly  as  I  can  get 


A  Ruskin  Letter  183 

a  hearing — every  word  of  truth  spoken  to 
the  English  public  at  present  is  answered  by 
a  stone  flung  at  you,  and  I  can't  take  a 
cartload  all  at  once. 

"So  Mrs.  is  a  friend  of  yours.     She 

is  a  fine  creature:  but  when  women  reach 
a  certain  age  their  heads  get  as  hard  as 
cocoanuts — and  it's  lucky  if  the  milk  inside 
isn't   sour;    which   it    is    not    yet    with   her. 

"  Where  did  you  find  that  saying  of  the 
lawyers  about  honesty?  It  would  be  useful 
to  me.  Truly  yours, 

"J.    Ruskin. 

"  It  is  curious  your  speaking  of  '  the  Happy 
Warrior.'  I  had  always  read  it  just  as  you 
do,  as  a  type  of  what  all  men  may  become. 

"Sir  Herbert  Edwardes  read  it  to  me,  show- 
ing that  it  is  quite  specially  written  for 
soldiers  and  literal  in  every  expression.  I 
am  going  to  use  part  of  it  in  a  lecture  to 
the  cadets  at  Woolwich  on  the  16th.  It  is 
entirely  glorious. 


1 84  The  Church 

"  Is  your  little  tradesman  at  Bethnal  Green 
still  living?" 

Perhaps  the  most  vivid  likeness  of  Mr. 
Ruskin  at  the  above  period  is  the  bust  by 
Sir  Edgar  Boehm  which  I  remember  seeing 
at  the  studio,  when  the  sculptor  drew  my 
attention  to  the  marked  contrast  between 
the  two  sides  of  Ruskin's  face;  one,  as  he  put 
it,  being  essentially  intellectual  and  the  other 
having  many  of  the  characteristics  of  an  ape  ! 

Old  George  Richmond's  portrait  of  him, 
even  allowing  for  his  comparative  youth  at 
the  time  that  it  was  taken,  was,  like  most  of 
Richmond's  portraitures,  considered  far  too 
flattering.  It  is  a  pity  that  Sargent  never  had 
an  opportunity  of  painting  him.  He  would 
have  produced  a  masterpiece  of  character- 
ization. 

One  of  the  neatest  " plays  upon  names" 
that  I  remember  was  achieved  at  a  dinner 
given  many  years  ago  to  two  well-known 
judges  by  the  bar  of  the  Western  Circuit.    The 


" Junius  Letters"  185 

guests  were  Mr.  Justice,  afterward  Lord 
Justice,  Lush  and  Mr.  Justice  Sheo,  one  of 
the  first  Roman  Catholics  raised  to  the  judicial 
bench.  After  dinner,  when  the  regulation 
toasts  had  been  disposed  of,  a  member  of  the 
bar  rose  and  remarked  that  it  was  his  pleas- 
ing duty  to  propose  a  toast  which  had  been 
honored  by  the  circuit  from  time  immemo- 
rial— namely,  "  Wine  and  Wonian  " ;  "  accord- 
ingly," he  concluded  after  a  few  appropriately 
humorous  remarks,  "  it  is  my  privilege  to  give 
you  '  Wine  and  Woman, '  which  with  peculiar 
appositeness  I  am  enabled  to  couple  with 
the  names  of  Her  Majesty's  judges  who  have 
honored  us  with  their  presence  here  to-night — 
Lush  and  She(o).'y 

Mr.  Justice  Sheo,  being  an  Irishman,  no 
doubt  duly  appreciated  the  sally,  but  I 
think  it  can  hardly  have  been  palatable  to 
Mr.  Justice  Lush,  who  combined  excellent 
legal  attainments  with  a  considerable  degree 
of  Nonconformist  austerity. 

In  another  section  I  have  referred  to  the 


1 86  The  Church 

authorship  of  "Junius's  Letters,"  which 
nowadays  are  confidently  attributed  to  Sir 
Philip  Francis,  though  apparently  on  very 
little  better  ground  than  a  rather  striking 
similarity  of  handwriting.  With  all  due 
deference  to  the  ingenious  gentlemen  who  have 
so  positively  pronounced  for  Francis,  I  am 
bound  to  confess  that,  after  a  not  altogether 
superficial  consideration  of  the  subject,  I  am 
strongly  inclined  to  accept  Sir  Philip's  sav- 
agely iterated  disclaimers  and  to  ascribe  the 
celebrated  epistles  to  an  author  far  better  qual- 
ified to  compose  them.  As  regards  Francis, 
there  are  to  my  mind  two  insuperable  objec- 
tions :  the  actual  writer  must  have  been  thor- 
oughly "  behind  the  scenes,"  both  in  court  and 
political  affairs,  which  at  the  time  the  letters 
were  published  was  certainly  not  the  case  with 
Francis,  the  son  of  a  schoolmaster  and  a 
mere  War  Office  clerk;  while  the  peculiar 
style  of  the  writer,  or  at  all  events  some 
suggestion  of  it,  must  have  been  occasionally 
apparent  in  other  works  from  the  same  hand, 


Sir  Philip  Francis  187 

a  fact  which  it  is  impossible  to  establish  with 
regard  to  Francis,  for  in  the  whole  of  the  two 
bulky  volumes  of  his  correspondence  I  can 
confidently  state  that  there  is  not  a  single 
sentence  or  expression  that  has  the  smallest 
affinity  with  the  style  of  the  famous  letters. 
This  correspondence,  mostly  dating  from 
India,  is  precisely  that  of  the  pompous, 
ponderous,  and  frequently  splenetic  East 
Indian  "big- wig"  of  that  period,  the  type 
of  gentleman  who  raked  in  his  rupees,  con- 
tracted a  liver  complaint,  and  returned  home 
in  due  course  to  tyrannize  over  his  family  and 
lay  down  the  laws  in  Leadenhall  Street.  So 
far  as  I  have  been  able  to  discover,  the  sole 
characteristic  that  Francis  had  in  common 
with  " Junius"  was  abundant  rancor,  which, 
however,  he  always  wreaked  with  a  bludgeon, 
while  " Junius"  invariably  used  the  finest 
rapier.  "  Solder  her  up  !  Solder  her  up  !  She's 
lived  thirty  years  too  long ! "  Sir  Philip's 
elegant  exclamation  on  hearing  of  the  demise 
of   his  ill-used  wife,  is  a  fair  sample  of   his 


1 88  The  Church 

best  manner,  and  though  it  may  justify  his 
title  (accorded  by  Rogers)  of  "  Junius  Brutus," 
it  is  certainly  very  far  from  helping  to  identify 
him  with  the  author  of  such  phrases  as  "  You 
sit  down  infamous  and  contented!"  (to 
General  Burgoyne)  or  "As  for  Mr.  Wedder- 
burn,  there  is  that  about  him  which  even 
treachery  cannot  trust!"  (of  Lord  Lough- 
borough). 

A  far  more  probable  solution  of  the  author- 
ship is  to  be  found  in  the  following  remark- 
able extract  from  a  book  with  which  the 
public  is  fortunately,  perhaps,  very  little 
familiar,  namely,  Lady  Anna  Hamilton's 
"Secret  History  of  the  Court  of  England 
from  the  Accession  of  George  the  Third  to  the 
Death  of  George  the  Fourth":  "It  was 
during  this  year  [1763]  that  the  celebrated 
'Letters  of  Junius'  first  appeared.  These 
compositions  were  distinguished  as  well  by 
the  force  and  elegance  of  their  style  as  by 
the  violence  of  their  attacks  on  individuals. 

"The  first  of  these  letters  was  printed  in 


Doctor  Wilmot  189 

the  Public  Advertiser  of  December  19th 
and  addressed  to  the  King,  animadverting 
on  all  the  errors  of  his  reign  and  speaking  of 
his  ministers  with  contempt  and  abhorrence. 

"An  attempt  was  made  to  suppress  this 
letter  by  the  strong  arm  of  the  law,  but  the 
effort  proved  abortive,  as  the  jury  acquitted 
the  printer,  who  was  the  person  prosecuted. 
■  Junius '  (though  under  a  feigned  name)  was 
the  most  competent  person  to  speak  fully 
on  political  subjects.  He  had  long  been  the 
bosom  friend  of  the  King,  and  spent  all  his 
leisure  time  at  court. 

"No  one,  therefore,  could  better  judge  of 
the  state  of  public  affairs  than  himself,  and  his 
sense  of  duty  to  the  nation  animated  him  to 
plead  for  the  long-estranged  rights  of  the 
people;  indeed,  upon  many  occasions  he  dis- 
played such  a  heroic  firmness,  such  an  invin- 
cible love  of  truth  and  such  an  unconquerable 
sense  of  honor  that  he  committed  his  talents  to 
be  exercised  freely  in  the  cause  of  public  jus- 
tice, and  subscribed  his  addenda  under  an  en- 


190  The  Church 

velope  rather  than  injure  his  prince  or  leave 
the  interests  of  his  countrymen  to  the  risk  of 
fortuitous  circumstances. 

"  We  know  of  whom  we  speak,  and  there- 
fore feel  authorized  to  assert  that  in  his  char- 
acter were  concentrated  a  steady  friend  of 
the  Prince's  as  well  as  of  the  people. 

"  Numerous  disquisitions  have  been  written 
to  prove  the  identity  of  'Jtmrus,'  but  in  spite 
of  many  arguments  to  the  contrary  we  recog- 
nize him  in  the  person  of  the  Reverend  James 
Wilmot,  D.D.,  rector  of  Barton-on-the-Heath 
and  Aubcester,  Warwickshire,  and  one  of  His 
Majesty's  justices  of  the  peace  for  that 
county. 

"Doctor  Wilmot  was  born  in  1720,  and 
during  his  stay  in  the  university  became 
intimately  acquainted  with  Doctor  Johnson, 
Lord  Archer,  and  Lord  Plymouth,  as  well 
as  Lord  North,  who  was  then  entered  at 
Trinity  College.  From  these  gentlemen  the 
Doctor  imbibed  his  political  opinions  and  was 
introduced  to  the  first  society  in  the  kingdom. 


Doctor  Wilmot  191 

"At  the  age  of  thirty  Doctor  Wilmot  was 
confidentially  trusted  with  the  most  secret 
affairs  of  state  and  was  also  the  bosom  friend 
of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  afterward  George  the 
Third,  who  at  that  time  was  under  the  entire 
tutorage  of  Lord  Bute.  For  this  nobleman 
Doctor  Wilmot  had  an  inveterate  hatred, 
for  he  despised  the  selfish  principles  of 
Toryism. 

"As  soon  as  the  Princess  of  Mecklenburgh 
(the  late  Queen  Charlotte)  arrived  in  the 
country  in  1761,  Doctor  Wilmot  was  intro- 
duced as  the  especial  friend  of  the  King,  and 
this  will  at  once  account  for  his  being  chosen 
to  perform  the  second  marriage  ceremony  of 
their  Majesties  at  Kew  Palace  as  before  related. 

"  A  circumstance  of  rather  a  singular  nature 
occurred  to  Doctor  Wilmot  in  the  year  1765, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  the  immediate  cause  of 
the  bold  and  decisive  line  of  conduct  which 
he  afterward  adopted.  It  was  simply  this: 
the  Doctor  received  an  anonymous  letter 
requesting  an  interview  with  the  writer  in 


192  The  Church 

Kensington  Gardens.  The  letter  was  written 
in  Latin  and  sealed,  the  impression  of  which 
was  a  Medusa's  head. 

"  The  Doctor  at  first  paid  no  attention  to 
it,  but  during  the  week  he  received  four 
similar  requests  written  by  the  same  hand, 
and  upon  receipt  of  the  last  Doctor  Wilmot 
provided  himself  with  a  brace  of  pocket 
pistols  and  proceeded  to  the  gardens  at  the 
hour  appointed. 

"The  Doctor  felt  much  surprise  when 
he  was  accosted  by  Lord  Bute,  who  imme- 
diately suggested  that  Doctor  Wilmot  should 
assist  the  administration,  as  Her  Majesty 
had  entire  confidence  in  him.  The  Doctor 
briefly  declined,  and  very  soon  afterward 
commenced  his  political  career.  Thus  the 
German  Princess  always  endeavored  to  in- 
veigle the  friends  of  the  people. 

"Lord  Chatham  had  been  introduced  to 
Doctor  Wilmot  by  the  Duke  of  Cumberland, 
and  it  was  from  these  associations  with  the 
court  and  the  members  of  the  several  admin- 


The  Author  of  Junius  193 

istrations  that  the  Doctor  became  so  competent 
to  write  his  unparalleled  'Letters  of  Junius.' 

"  We  here  subjoin  an  incontrovertible  proof 
of  Doctor  Wilmot's  being  the  author  of  the 
work  alluded  to: 

"  '  I  have  this  day  completed  my  last  letter 

of  Ju s,   and  sent  the  same  to  L d 

S ne.     W ,  March  the.  17,  1772/ 

"  This  is  a  facsimile  of  the  Doctor's  hand- 
writing, and  must  forever  set  at  rest  the 
long-disputed  question  of  'Who  was  the 
author  of  Junius  ? ' " 

The   L d   S ne   mentioned    in    the 

above-quoted  memorandum  was  of  course 
Lord  Shelburne,  afterward  first  Marquis  of 
Lansdowne,  and  it  is  well  known  that  this 
nobleman  at  the  close  of  his  life  expressed 
the  intention  of  revealing  the  identity  of 
"Junius,"  of  which  he  had  long  been  aware. 
Before,  however,  he  could  carry  it  into  effect 
he  was  seized  with  an  illness  which  very 
shortly  proved  fatal,  and  he  carried  the 
secret  with  him  to  the  grave. 


IV. 

ART  AND  LETTERS 


The  Pre-Raphaelite  Painters  and  Charles  Augustus  Howell — 
A  Curious  Dinner  Party — Leonard  Rowe  Valpy — A 
Luncheon  at  Howell's — Mr.  Swinburne — His  Contempt 
for  Tennyson — His  Eton  Days  and  Adventure  with  the 
Headmaster — His  Novel — Edward  Burne-Jones — His 
Indignation  Against  Du  Maurier — Oscar  Wilde  as  a  Wit 
and  Playwright — D.  G.  Rossetti — /.  T.  Nettleship — 
" The  Lost  Leader" — Browning — Sir  Edgar  Boehm — 
Thackeray  and  Trollope — Tom  Robertson — H.  J.  Byron 
and  Sir  F.  Burnand — Patty  Oliver — "Tommy"  Holmes 
— Palgrave  Simpson  and  "the  Gods" — Alfred  Wigan — 
Aimee  Desclee — William  Terriss — A  Remarkable  Dream. 


IV. 

ART  AND   LETTERS 

Forty  years  ago  the  pre-Raphaelite  painters 
were  practically  unknown  outside  their  own 
small  and  very  select  circle;  but  the  adora- 
tion of  a  clique,  however  gratifying,  provides 
but  little  in  the  way  of  bread  and  butter, 
and  it  was  a  happy  inspiration  on  the  part 
of  " Gabriel "  Rossetti  and  "Ned"  Burne- 
Jones  when  they  appointed  an  informal 
agent  for  the  disposal  of  their  eccentric 
wares  in  the  person  of  a  certain  seductive 
Anglo-Portuguese  gentleman,  by  name 
Charles  Augustus  Howell,  at  that  time  the 
secretary  and  factotum  of  Mr.  Ruskin. 
Howell  was  the  most  astonishing  compound 
of  charm  and  chicanery  that  I  have  ever 
encountered  in  the  flesh  or  read  of  in  fiction. 
When  I  first  knew  him  the  charm  only  was 

197 


198  Art  and  Letters 

en  evidence,  though  one  had  an  instinctive 
feeling  that  the  accompanying  quality  was 
not  very  far  below  the  surface.  I  never 
clearly  understood  what  his  earlier  record 
had  been;  but  he  talked  vaguely  of  kinship 
with  a  Scotch  baronet,  and  when  finding  it 
convenient  to  quote  a  professional  status, 
would  describe  himself  as  a  civil  engineer. 
The  first  intimation  I  had  of  his  connection 
with  that  abstruse  vocation  was  while  travel- 
ing with  him  one  day  in  the  vicinity  of  Clap- 
ham  Junction,  when,  the  railway  carriage 
beginning  to  jolt  unpleasantly,  he  promptly 
put  his  head  out  of  the  window  and  vociferated 
for  the  guard.  The  train  was  brought  to  a 
standstill  and  the  guard  hurried  up  breath- 
less, evidently  expecting  to  be  greeted  with 
news  of  a  murder,  or  at  least  a  murderous 
assault.  He  was  therefore  not  unnaturally 
a  trifle  nettled  when  Howell  haughtily  bade 
him  look  to  the  couplings,  which  he  declared 
were  causing  a  vibration  that  might  seriously 
imperil  the  integrity  of  his  spine 


Charles  Augustus  Howell  199 

Howell's  bohemian  aspect  and  half -foreign 
accent  scarcely  tended  to  strengthen  the 
guard's  belief  in  his  bona  fides,  and  he  mut- 
tered menacingly  that  "  if  people  played  this 
sort  of  pranks  over  here  they  might  find 
themselves  run  in."  "  Fellow/ '  retorted 
Howell  with  withering  scorn,  "  I'd  have  you 
know  that  I  am  a  civil  engineer,  and  if  you 
don't  put  your  damned  couplings  to  rights 
I  shall  lodge  a  complaint  against  you  at 
Clapham  Junction."  He  then  began  to 
fumble  in  his  pockets  for  a  card-case,  but 
the  guard  evidently  thought  it  was  for  a 
poniard,  and  with  a  scared  countenance  and 
profuse  apologies  hastened  back  to  his  van. 
In  later  days  the  civil  engineer  role  was 
resorted  to  with  even  greater  effect,  for,  his 
finances  being  at  low  water,  Howell  hit  upon 
the  masterly  expedient  of  taking  rickety 
houses  at  nominal  rents  in  neighborhoods 
where  he  had  good  reason  for  supposing 
that  the  district  railway  would  find  it 
necessary    to    acquire    land,    and    when    in- 


200  Art  and  Letters 

formed  that  his  tenements  were  required 
for  the  purposes  of  the  line,  managed  to 
exact  phenomenally  high  terms  on  the 
ground  that  to  be  disturbed  would  be  fatal 
to  his  occupation  of  civil  engineer. 

How  I  came  to  know  him  was  in  this 
wise.  Old  George  Cruikshank,  the  artist, 
had  fallen  on  evil  days,  and  Ruskin,  who 
was  a  great  admirer  of  his  work,  with  char- 
acteristic generosity  determined  to  get  up 
a  testimonial  fund  for  him.  He  accordingly 
set  his  secretary,  Howell,  to  canvass  for  sub- 
scriptions among  all  who  were  interested  in 
Cruikshank  and  his  work.  Of  these  my 
father  happening  to  be  one,  Howell  duly 
called  upon  him,  and  after  successfully  plead- 
ing the  particular  cause  he  had  in  hand, 
managed  adroitly  by  a  side-wind  to  arouse 
my  father's  interest  in  the  works  of  his 
gifted  friends  "  Gabriel "  Rossetti  and  "Ned" 
Jones.  In  less  than  a  week  Howell,  Burne- 
Jones,  and  a  third  guest  almost  as  remark- 
able, Leonard  Rowe  Valpy  (of  whom  more 


A  Curious  Dinner  Party  201 

anon),  were  dining  with  my  father,  who  so 
strongly  caught  the  pre-Raphaelite  fever  that 
but  for  his  unexpected  death  a  few  weeks 
later  he  would  assuredly  have  become  an 
important  purchaser  from  the  studios  of 
both  artists. 

The  first  time  I  saw  Howell  was  about 
a  year  after  my  father's  death,  when  he 
came  to  dine  at  my  mother's  to  meet  Mr. 
Valpy,  an  esthetic  solicitor,  there  being 
also  present  a  decorous  old  gentleman,  the 
brother-in-law  of  a  bishop,  who  was  one 
of  our  trustees.  I  shall  never  forget 
Howell's  appearance.  We  had  a  house 
for  the  summer  a  few  miles  out  of  town, 
and  Howell,  who  then  lived  at  Brixton  in 
order  to  be  near  Ruskin  at  Denmark  Hill, 
had  to  make  a  cross-country  railway  journey, 
which  landed  him  quite  an  hour  late  for 
dinner.  The  bald-headed  trustee  was  grow- 
ing ominously  brusk  and  the  esthetic 
lawyer  more  and  more  dejected,  when  the 
door    opened   and    a   swarthy-faced,    black- 


202  Art  and  Letters 

haired  individual  sidled  in,  caressing  a  terri- 
bly rumpled  dress-shirt  front  and  radiating 
a  propitiatory  smile.  "I  am  so  sorry," 
he  drawled  melodiously,  "to  be  so  shock- 
ingly late;  but  the  fact  is,  I  was  so  absorbed 
in  reading  Algernon  Swinburne's  'Poems 
and  Ballads'  that  I  unconsciously  consumed 
my  railway  ticket  and  got  into  difficulties 
with  the  collector,  who  declined  to  accept 
my  word  of  honor.  I  must  apologize,  too," 
he  added  gracefully,  "for  the  condition  of 
my  shirt;  but  in  stooping  to  search  for  my 
ticket — before  I  discovered  that  I  had  con- 
sumed it — I  am  afraid  the  front  got  rather 
tumbled,  and,  moreover,  I  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  lose  a  couple  of  my  studs,  but " 

Here  the  bald-headed  trustee  gave  a  menacing 
grunt  and  the  lawyer  murmured  something 
about  a  weak  digestion,  so  to  my  intense 
regret  Howell's  apology  was  cut  short  and 
we  went  in  to  dinner.  After  my  mother  and 
sisters  had  withdrawn,  Howell  treated  the 
trustee    and    the   lawyer   to    various    erotic 


Among  Philistines  203 

passages  from  Swinburne,  which  they  in 
vain  tried  to  cough  down — the  trustee  in 
deference  to  his  Episcopal  connection  and 
the  lawyer  to  certain  Calvinistic  tendencies 
which  struggled  fiercely  with  his  appreciation 
of  the  "sensuous."  After  vainly  attempting 
to  suppress  these  fervid  quotations,  the  two 
elders  suggested  an  adjournment  to  the 
garden,  and  in  passing  out  the  trustee, 
drawing  me  aside,  inquired  who  that  ex- 
traordinary foreigner  was,  expressing  an  un- 
friendly suspicion  that  he  never  had  any 
railway  ticket  at  all.  Shortly  afterward, 
however,  Howell  had  his  reprisals,  for,  linking 
his  arm  confidentially  in  mine,  he  vouchsafed 
that  in  his  opinion  trustees  and  all  "  blokes  " 
of  that  description  ought  not  to  be  allowed 
about  after  office  hours;  that  they  were  the 
deadly  enemies  of  literature  and  art,  and  it 
was  owing  to  them  that  so  many  artists  died 
of  want;  and  he  wondered  so  sensible  a  man 
as  my  father  had  had  anything  to  do  with 
them.     "Now,    Valpy,"   he   continued,    with 


204  Art  and  Letters 

a  glance  at  the  Low  Church  solicitor,  "is  a 
different  sort.  Although  he  is  a  damned 
lawyer,  my  dear  boy,  he  has  a  soul  for  art, 
and  I'm  going  to  take  him  to  see  Gabriel, 
and  put  him  in  the  way  of  securing  some  of 
his  best  things  before  the  public  gets  on  to 
them,  you  know."  A  project  which  he 
carried  out  to  some  purpose,  Valpy  eventually 
becoming  one  of  the  largest  buyers  of 
Rossetti's  pictures  in  London,  if  not  in  the 
kingdom. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  we  had  re- 
entered the  house,  Howell  threw  off  an 
epigram  at  the  lawyer's  expense  which  pro- 
claimed him  as  no  contemptible  wit.  Mr. 
Valpy,  who  was  much  given  to  emotional 
admiration,  was  sighing  deeply  in  the  course 
of  some  music  which  peculiarly  appealed 
to  him.  "  A  doleful  chap,  that  fellow  Valpy, ' ' 
whispered  Howell;  "he  reminds  me  of  a  tear 
in  a  dress-coat. "  The  night  wore  on,  and 
first  the  trustee,  then  the  lawyer,  and  finally 
my   family   retired,    but   Howell   showed   no 


A  Late  Retirer  205 

inclination  to  retreat.  On  he  sat,  discoursing 
with  infinite  drollery  (he  pretended  that  he 
saw  the  bald  head  of  his  enemy  the  trustee 
bobbing  among  some  gooseberry  bushes  in 
amorous  converse  with  a  kitchen  maid)  and 
indolently  twisting  up  innumerable  cigarettes, 
till  at  last  it  dawned  upon  him  that  it  was 
well  on  into  Sunday  morning,  and  he  was 
without  any  visible  means  of  returning  to 
his  Brixton  domicile.  "  Never  mind,"  he 
chortled  cheerfully.  "Arthur  Hughes  lives 
somewhere  on  the  road  to  London.  He 
never  goes  to  bed.  I'll  go  and  look  him 
up  and  finish  the  night  there."  And  off 
he  strolled  in  the  direction  of  town,  intoning 
stanzas  from  "Our  Lady  of  Pain"  with  a 
sonorous  energy  that  would  infallibly  have 
lodged  him  in  the  local  police  station  had  he 
chanced  to  fall  in  with  a  guardian  of  the 
peace. 

A  day  or  so  afterward  I  received  a  note 
from  Howell  asking  me  to  lunch  with  him 
to  meet  "the  poet,"  as  he  invariably  styled 


206  Art  and  Letters 

Mr.  Swinburne,  an  invitation  which  I  readily 
enough  accepted.  It  was  a  memorable  oc- 
casion. Howell's  abode  was  externally  com- 
monplace enough — a  little  semidetached  villa 
approached  by  a  strip  of  garden — but  inside 
it  presented  a  very  different  aspect,  the 
rooms  being  profusely  adorned  with  Rossetti 
pictures  and  Burne- Jones  drawings,  some  of 
them  extremely  beautiful,  varied  with  the 
rarest  oriental  china.  Mr.  Swinburne  did  not 
arrive  till  lunch  was  over,  and  before  enter- 
ing the  house  was  engaged  in  a  prolonged 
difference  with  his  cabman,  who  eventually 
snatched  up  his  reins  and  drove  rapidly 
off  as  if  glad  to  get  away.  "The  poet's 
got  the  best  of  it,  as  usual,"  drawled  Howell 
(who  had  been  gleefully  watching  the  scene). 
"He  lives  at  the  British  Hotel  in  Cockspur 
Street,  and  never  goes  anywhere  except  in 
hansoms,  which,  whatever  the  distance,  he 
invariably  remunerates  with  one  shilling. 
Consequently,  when,  as  to-day,  it's  a  case  of 
two    miles    beyond    the    radius,    there's    the 


Algernon  Charles  Swinburne         207 

devil's  own  row;  but  in  the  matter  of  impre- 
cation the  poet  is  more  than  a  match  for 
cabby,  who,  after  five  minutes  of  it,  gallops 
off  as  though  he  had  been  rated  by  Beelzebub 
himself. "  Here,  looking,  it  must  be  owned, 
singularly  innocent  of  anathema,  Mr.  Swin- 
burne entered,  and  being  fortunately  in  one 
of  his  characteristic  veins,  provided  me  with 
the  most  interesting  hour  of  my  existence. 
Unlike  many  of  his  craft,  Mr.  Swinburne, 
who  had  just  read  Miss  Rossetti's  "Goblin 
Market,  and  Other  Poems/ '  recently  pub- 
lished, showed  the  most  generous  enthusiasm 
for  the  work  of  his  fellow-poet,  and,  after 
paying  her  a  signal  tribute,  he  asked  Howell 
if  he  happened  to  have  the  volume  in  the 
house.  Fortunately  this  proved  to  be  the 
case,  and  Mr.  Swinburne,  taking  up  the  book, 
rapidly  turned  over  the  pages,  evidently  in 
search  of  some  favorite  poem.  In  vain  I 
tried  to  conjecture  what  his  choice  was  going 
to  be.  The  volume,  as  readers  of  Miss 
Rossetti  are  aware,  concludes  with  a  series 


208  Art  and  Letters 

of  devotional  pieces  which,  having  regard 
to  the  complexion  of  Mr.  Swinburne's  own 
poems  at  that  time,  would,  I  thought,  be  the 
last  to  attract  him,  strongly  at  any  rate. 
But  I  was  mistaken.  His  quest  stopped 
almost  at  the  end  of  the  book,  and  without 
more  ado  he  straightway  proceeded  to  read 
aloud  that  singularly  beautiful  but  profoundly 
devotional  paraphrase,  partly  derived  from 
Solomon's  Song,  which  begins  with  "  Pass- 
ing away  saith  the  world,  passing  away." 
The  particular  meter  and  impressive 
monotony  of  rhyme  (every  line  in  the  piece 
is  rhymed  to  the  opening  one)  seemed  pecu- 
liarly to  lend  themselves  to  Mr.  Swinburne's 
measured  lilt  of  intonation,  and  I  then 
realized  for  the  first  time  the  almost  magical 
effect  which  Tennyson's  similar  method  of 
reading  was  wont  to  exercise  over  his  hearers. 
When  Mr.  Swinburne  had  finished,  he  put 
the  book  down  with  a  vehement  gesture,  but 
only  for  an  instant.  After  a  moment's  pause 
he  took  it  up  again,  and  a  second  time  read 


An  Eloquent  Tribute  209 

the  poem  aloud  with  even  greater  expression 
than  before.  "  By  God !  "  he  said  as  he  closed 
the  book,  "  that's  one  of  the  finest  things 
ever  written  ! "  He  then  proceeded  to  touch 
on  a  variety  of  subjects,  all  with  the  greatest 
fervor  and  vehemence.  At  that  time  he 
appeared  to  have  a  sovereign  disdain  for 
Tennyson,  whose  poetry  he  attacked  whole- 
sale with  almost  frenzied  bitterness,  quoting, 
I  remember,  with  peculiar  gusto  Bulwer 
Lytton's  diatribe  against  him  in  "The  New 
Timon.,,  With  the  courage  of  extreme  youth 
(I  was  not  eighteen)  I  actually  ventured  to 
interpose  a  plea  for  one  favorite,  at  least. 
"Surely,  Mr.  Swinburne/'  I  faltered,  "you 
will  except  'Maud'?"  "Well,  sir,"  he  cour- 
teously replied,  "I  think  you  are  right;  I 
ought  to  have  excepted  'Maud,'  for  it  cer- 
tainly does  contain  some  fine  things." 

Next  he  dashed  off  to  Byron  and  Shelley, 
the  former  of  whom  at  that  time  he  appeared 
to  prefer.  In  connection  with  Shelley's  Eton 
days,  after  mentioning  that  he  was  himself 


210  Art  and  Letters 

an  Eton  boy,  he  asked  me  where  I  had  been 
at  school;  and  when  I  told  him  at  Harrow, 
he  at  once  declared  that  he  wished  he  had 
been  at  Harrow,  as  it  was  Byron's  school. 
But  this  pronouncement  was  evidently  not 
entirely  prompted  by  a  partiality  for  Lord 
Byron,  for  a  few  moments  later  he  narrated 
an  experience  which  was  quite  enough  to 
prejudice  him  against  his  own  school,  apart 
from  any  sentimental  considerations.  He 
then  told  us  that  at  the  end  of  his  first  "  half  " 
at  Eton,  his  father,  Admiral  Swinburne,  came 
down  to  take  him  home  for  the  holidays. 
"  My  father/'  Swinburne  dolorously  explained, 
"had  never  been  at  a  public  school,  and  had 
no  knowledge  whatever  of  its  manners  and 
customs.  In  fact,  it  was  quite  superfluous 
his  coming  down  to  escort  me  home,  a  parental 
attention  which  is  never  paid  to  any  public- 
school  boy.  However,  like  most  naval 
officers,  he  was  a  trifle  arbitrary,  and,  whether 
customary  or  not,  he  was  resolved  to  come. 
In  getting  into  the  train  for  Paddington,  as 


Heckling  a  Headmaster  211 

bad  luck  would  have  it,  we  chanced  to  enter 
a  carriage  in  the  corner  of  which,  reading 
The  Times,  was  snugly  ensconced  the  then 
headmaster    of    Eton.     'Isn't    that    Doctor 

V  whispered  my  father  to  me,  peering 

curiously  in  the  direction  of  the  headmaster. 
'I  believe  it  is,'  I  stammered  reluctantly. 
1  Believe  it  is  ! '  rejoined  my  father  caustically ; 
'you  must  surely  know  your  own  head- 
master ! '  Then  clearing  his  throat  and  rais- 
ing his  voice,  to  my  consternation  he  bent 
forward  and  airily  accosted  the  awful  presence 

behind    The    Times    with,    'Doctor   ,    I 

believe,  sir?'  The  Doctor,  incensed  at  being 
interrupted  by  a  perfect  stranger,  glared  at 
my  father  round  the  sheet  of  the  paper  and 
said  testily,  'Yes,  sir;  at  your  service.'  '  Well, 
sir,'  rejoined  my  father,  jerking  a  finger  in 
my  direction,  'my  boy  here  has  just  finished 
his  first  term  at  Eton,  and  I  should  very 
much  like  to  know  what  account  you  can 
give  me  of  him. '  Now,"  continued  Mr. 
Swinburne   with    almost   tragical   solemnity, 


212  Art  and  Letters 

"asa  matter  of  fact,  Doctor had  never 

set  eyes  on  me  and  probably  did  not  even 
know  of  my  existence ;  but  enraged,  I  suppose, 
at  my  father's  rather  unconventional  inter- 
ruption, which  he  no  doubt  considered  a 
slight  on  his  dignity,  he  glanced  down  at  me 
with  a  scarlet  face  and  said  deliberately, 
'Your  boy,  sir — your  boy  is  one  of  the  very 
worst  in  the  school!1  and  then  entrenched 
himself  once  more  behind  The  Times.  My 
father  looked  volumes,  but  said  nothing  till 
we  got  out  at  Paddington.     Then  the  storm 

burst.     In  vain  I  protested  that  Doctor 

knew  nothing  whatever  about  me  and  had 
only  said  what  he  had  out  of  pure  vexation  at 
being  disturbed.  'Do  you  think,'  said  my 
father,  'that  I  am  going  to  take  your  word 
before  that  of  your  headmaster?'  And  I 
was  sentenced  to  deprivation  of  all  pleasures 
and  privileges  for  the  duration  of  the  Christ- 
mas holidays ! " 

I    remember    that    on    this    occasion    Mr. 
Swinburne   was   very  loud  in  his   praise   of 


Mr.  Swinburne's  Novel  213 

a  certain  novel  by  Mrs.  Norton,  called  "  Old 
Sir  Douglas,"  which  I  am  bound  to  confess 
with  all  humility  proved  to  me  rather  dis- 
appointing. I  fancy  it  is  now  entirely  for- 
gotten. The  poet  was  then  writing  a  novel 
himself,  which  unfortunately  has  never  seen 
the  light;  but,  according  to  Howell,  it  was 
highly  dramatic,  and  interspersed  with  several 
striking  lyrics,  one  of  which  he  (Howell) 
insisted  on  intoning  the  same  afternoon  in 
the  train  on  our  way  to  London.  The  first 
two  lines,  which  are  all  I  can  remember  of 
it,  were  certainly  gruesome  enough,  and  dis- 
comfited not  a  little  the  other  essentially 
matter-of-fact  occupants  of  the  railway  car- 
riage.    They  ran,  I  think,  as  follows : 

"  Some  die  singing,  some  die  swinging, 
Some  die  high  on  tree," 

and  suggested  a  hero  of  the  Macheath  or 
Jack  Sheppard  type,  which  seemed  scarcely 
characteristic  of  their  classical  creator. 

Shortly  afterward  I  was  taken  by  Howell 
to   Mr.    Burne- Jones's  house  in   Kensington 


214  Art  and  Letters 

Square,  a  visit  which  I  associated  less  with 
esthetic  art  than  with  the  reddest  repub- 
licanism, which  the  painter  gave  forth  with 
almost  feminine  fervency,  striking  me  as  the 
mildest-mannered  man  that  ever  preached 
democracy.  When  in  recent  years  he  ac- 
cepted a  baronetcy,  I  wondered  how  he 
reconciled  it  with  those  Kensington  Square 
invectives  against  all  titular  distinctions; 
but  he  is  not  the  first  man  who  has  dis- 
carded the  "red  cap"  for  the  "red  hand," 
laying  the  responsibility  of  his  volte-face  on 
the  shoulders  of  his  family.  Burne- Jones 
in  those  days  was  not  considered  to  be  by 
any  means  on  the  same  artistic  level  as 
Rossetti,  though  at  present  opinion  is  all 
the  other  way.  I  venture,  however,  to  pre- 
dict that  half  a  century  hence  posterity  will 
restore  Rossetti  to  the  higher  place.  Burne- 
Jones  enjoyed  for  a  time  an  advantage 
denied  to  Rossetti:  he  exhibited  his  works 
at  the  Old  Water-Color  Society,  with  which 
he  remained  connected  till,    I  think,    1869, 


Sir  E.  Burne-Jones  215 

when  an  untoward  incident  occurred  which 
terminated  his  relations  with  the  society. 
His  principal  exhibit  at  the  summer  exhibi- 
tion was  a  very  poetical  drawing  called 
"  Phyllis  and  Demophoon,"  in  which  both 
the  figures  were  nude  but  without  conveying 
the  faintest  suggestion  of  indelicacy.  Un- 
fortunately, however,  an  important  patron 
of  the  society,  one  Mr.  Leaf,  a  prosperous 
silk  merchant,  chose  to  regard  the  picture 
as  an  outrage  on  propriety,  and  brought 
such  pressure  to  bear  on  the  council  that 
they  requested  Mr.  Burne-Jones  to  import 
into  the  picture  a  certain  amount  of  raiment. 
This  the  painter  indignantly  refused  to  do, 
and  the  result  was  the  withdrawal  of  himself 
and  his  picture  from  the  society.  It  was  a 
deplorable  incident  by  which  all  concerned 
were  the  loserr,  except  the  puritanical  silk 
dealer,  who,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
immediately  gained  the  sobriquet  of  "  Fig- 
Leaf.  " 

Burne-Jones,    although    in    the    main   the 


216  Art  and  Letters 

gentlest  of  creatures,  was  at  times  capable 
of  almost  virulent  sarcasm.  I  remember 
meeting  him  at  dinner  at  the  period  when 
Du  Maurier  was  beginning  his  campaign 
in  Punch  against  Oscar  Wilde  and  the 
esthetes,  a  crusade  which  seemed  to  com- 
mend itself  to  most  of  those  present,  Hamilton 
Ai'de,  who  was  a  great  friend  of  Du  Maurier, 
being  particularly  emphatic  in  his  approval. 
Burne- Jones,  who  had  been  listening  with 
his  face  half  averted,  darted  round  in  his 
chair  as  Ai'de  complacently  delivered  his 
final  sentence,  and,  white  with  long-pent 
indignation,  hissed  out,  "  You  may  say  what 
you  like,  but  there  is  more  wit  in  Wilde's 
little  finger  than  in  the  whole  of  Du  Mauri er's 
wretched  little  body  ! "  Then,  having  spent 
his  ire,  he  relapsed  into  moody  silence, 
resting  his  head  on  his  hand  with  an  attitude 
of  forlorn  disgust.  We  were  perhaps  unjust 
to  Wilde,  but  Burne- Jones  assuredly  under- 
rated Du  Maurier,  whose  keen  pictorial  satire 
will  probably  long  survive  Wilde's  artificial 


Oscar  Wilde  217 

literary  sallies.  I  had  no  acquaintance  with 
Wilde,  and  cannot  therefore  form  a  judg- 
ment as  to  his  conversational  wit;  but  I 
have  never  been  able  to  discover  any  speci- 
men that  could  be  described  as  of  the  first 
order.  Perhaps  the  best  thing  he  ever  said 
was  to  a  certain  rather  humdrum  bard  when 
the  latter  was  complaining  of  the  neglect 
with  which  his  poems  were  treated  by  the 
critics.  "  There  seems  to  be  a  conspiracy  of 
silence  against  me.  What  would  you  advise 
me  to  do ?  "  he  inquired  of  Wilde.  "  Join  it," 
was  the  unconsoling  reply.  But  the  gener- 
ality of  Wilde's  mots  (when  not  assimilated) 
were  rather  showy  than  really  excellent,  like 
Sheridan's  or  Lamb's.  His  description  of 
the  Jews,  for  instance,  as  people  "  who  spoke 
through  their  own  noses  and  made  you 
pay  through  yours,"  though  serviceable 
enough  for  the  moment,  has  not  the  quality 
that  survives.  Compare  it  with  Sheridan's 
mot  to  Lord  Lauderdale,  when  the  latter,  a 
matter-of-fact    Scotchman,    was    attempting 


218  Art  and  Letters 

to  repeat  some  jest  from  Brooks's:  "  Don't, 
Lauderdale,  don't;  a  joke  in  your  mouth  is 
no  laughing  matter  ! "  Or  Lamb's  retort  to 
the  silly  dame  who,  after  boring  him  ex- 
cruciatingly, complained  that  for  all  the  at- 
tention he  paid  to  what  she  said  she  might 
be  speaking  to  the  lady  on  his  other  side. 
"So-o  you — you  m-might,  ma-ad-am,  for  it 
a-all  g-g-goes  in  at  one  ear  and  ou-ou-out 
at  the  other  ! " 

With  all  his  ability,  Wilde  was  a  copious 
though  very  covert  plagiarist,  recalling 
Horace  Smith's  definition  of  originality — 
"  undetected  imitation.  "  Thirty  years  ago 
his  plays  would  not  have  had  a  chance,  but 
as  Disraeli  educated  his  party,  so  Wilde 
educated  his  public,  and  at  the  time  of  his 
downfall  he  had  so  successfully  impressed  it 
with  the  merits  of  his  work  that  he  might 
have  filled  almost  every  theater  in  London 
had  he  only  been  provided  with  a  sufficiency 
of  material.  But  it  is  highly  improbable 
that  his  vogue  would  have  lasted.     Inversion 


Wilde  as  a  Dramatist  219 

and  distortion,  however  ingenious  or  even 
brilliant,  do  not  convince  in  the  long  run; 
and  the  general  public,  whose  taste  is  au 
fond  sound  and  healthy,  would  ere  long 
have  become  sated  with  highly  seasoned 
kickshaws  and  reverted  to  plainer  and 
more   satisfying    fare. 

To  return  to  the  pre-Raphaelite  coterie. 
My  introduction  to  Burne- Jones  was  quickly 
followed  by  one  to  Rossetti,  whose  personality 
impressed  me  then  and  thereafter  far  more 
than  that  of  his  brother  painter.  It  is 
almost  impossible  to  describe  the  curious 
effect  of  suddenly  finding  oneself  within  his 
famous  house  in  Cheyne  Walk,  afterward 
so  remorselessly  desecrated  by  that  eccle- 
siastical mountebank,  Prebendary  Haweis. 
With  one  step  you  seemed  to  place  the  outer 
world  at  an  incalculable  distance.  The  dim 
light,  the  profound  stillness,  the  almost  en- 
chanted solemnity  which  pervaded  even  the 
entrance  hall,  suggested  rather  some  medi- 
eval  palazzo  than  a  suburban  abode  within 


220  Art  and  Letters 

a  mile  of  Victorian  London.  The  man  him- 
self was  equally  aloof  from  the  age.  With 
his  somber,  olive-shaded  face,  his  sad,  reverie- 
haunted  eyes,  his  dark,  unordered  attire, 
and  his  indefinable  distinction  of  demeanor 
(in  spite  of  an  almost  stunted  stature),  he 
suggested  some  figure  from  the  pages  of 
Petrarch  or  Ariosto.  Then,  again,  the  sin- 
gular beauty  of  his  voice  added  another 
touch  of  enchantment  as,  standing  before 
a  great  picture  of  Lilith,  he  recited  his  own 
descriptive  lines,  revealing  himself  in  the 
dual  attributes  of  painter  and  poet.  At 
that  time  his  remarkable  book  of  poems 
had  not  been  published,  and  only  his  most 
intimate  friends  were  aware  of  his  great 
poetical  gifts.  In  fact,  one  or  two  poems 
only  had  seen  the  light,  and  those  in  the 
scarcely  known  publications  called  The  Germ 
and  The  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Magazine, 
to  which  Burne- Jones,  William  Morris,  and 
one  of  two  others  of  the  fraternity  had  also 
contributed.     The  only  relief  to  the  almost 


D.  G.  Rosetti  221 

eerie  gloom  of  Rossetti' s  house  was  his 
matchless  collection  of  oriental  "blue,"  a 
large  portion  of  which  was,  I  think,  after- 
ward acquired  by  Mr.  Leonard  Valpy,  whom 
I  have  already  referred  to  as  an  extensive 
purchaser  of  Rossetti  pictures.  As  we  passed 
from  dusky  chamber  to  chamber,  the  medi- 
eval figure  leading,  and  only  breaking  the 
tranced  silence  with  an  occasional  tone  of 
profound  melancholy,  one  began  to  wonder 
whether  one  was  still  in  the  vital  world  or 
in  some  haunted  domain  of  ruined  love  and 
shattered  hopes.  In  truth,  the  shadow  of 
his  girl- wife's  tragic  death  seemed  to  hang 
more  or  less  darkly  over  Rossetti  to  the 
end  of  his  life.  Friends  he  had  and  com- 
panions, but  his  closest  comrade  was  Sorrow, 
hallowed,  indeed,  and  beautified,  but  insepa- 
rable from  him  to  the  grave. 

I  have  more  than  once  referred  to  Mr. 
Leonard  Valpy  as  a  friend  of  Howell  and 
Rossetti  and  an  extensive  purchaser  of 
the  latter's  works.     Mr.  Valpy  was  by  pro- 


222  Art  and  Letters 

fession  a  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  family  lawyer 
of  good  position  and  repute;  but  though  a 
strenuous  worker  in  his  vocation,  his  heart 
was  divided  between  two  curiously  antago- 
nistic predilections — the  "austere"  and  the 
"sensuous" — his  religious  tendencies  being 
sternly  Calvinistic  and  his  artistic  sympathies 
chiefly  identified  with  the  school  of  Rossetti 
and  Burne- Jones.  This  singular  contrast  of 
proclivities  led  not  infrequently  to  scenes 
and  situations  of  a  distinctly  comical  nature. 
Many  a  time  have  I  met  in  his  dining-room, 
hung  with  a  superb  line  of  Rossetti's  red- 
chalk  studies,  a  solemn  assemblage  of  Exeter 
Hall  lawyers  and  Low  Church  clergymen, 
who  looked  upon  their  host's  cherished  draw- 
ings either  as  autotype  reproductions  or  the 
work  of  some  inspired  madman.  Two  in- 
stances of  this  philistinism  I  particularly 
remember.  The  hero  of  one  of  them  was 
an  eminent  commercial  solicitor,  who,  after 
inspecting  some  newly  acquired  treasure  con- 
temptuously for  half  a  minute,  turned  on  his 


Ill- Assorted  Guests  223 

heel  with  the  comment  that  "faces  of  that 
kind  were  usually  symptomatic  of  scrofula." 
The  other  offender,  a  gormandizing  clergy- 
man, was  even  more  flagrant.  Uplifting  his 
eyes  from  his  empty  plate  during  a  change 
of  courses,  he  happened  to  catch  sight  for 
the  first  time  of  three  new  purchases  from 
Rossetti's  studio.  "  Queer-looking  affairs, 
those,  Valpy,"  he  remarked  with  a  pitying 
sneer;  "where  did  you  pick  them  up?" 
"They  are  the  work  of  one  Rossetti,"  replied 
Valpy  with  simmering  irony.  "Rossetti? 
Rossetti?  Never  heard  of  him,"  rejoined 
the  appalling  guest.  Then  glancing  at  an 
idealized  study  of  his  hostess,  which  formed 
the  center  of  the  three  drawings,  he  added, 
"And  who,  may  I  ask,  is  that  ill-looking 
woman  over  the  mantelpiece  ?"  "  That,  sir," 
replied  Valpy  with  what  Dizzy  used  to  call 
"a  superb  groan" — "that,  sir,  is  my  wife!" 
Yet,  strange  to  say,  Valpy  persisted  to  the 
last  in  entertaining  these  uncongenial  guests, 
who  never  failed  to  drive  him  nearly  frantic 


224  Art  and  Letters 

with  their  outrageous  comments.  Occasion- 
ally, however,  in  his  bachelor  days  he  would 
invite  one  or  two  artists,  and  perhaps  myself 
or  some  other  more  sympathetic  friend,  to 
what  he  called  a  quiet  dinner,  but  which 
really  was  almost  Spartan  in  its  provender. 
I  suppose  he  imagined  that  artists  were  too 
ethereal  to  care  for  the  succulent  fare  which 
he  set  before  parsons  and  lawyers,  a  theory 
wherein  he  was,  of  course,  grievously  mis- 
taken. I  well  recollect  dining  with  him 
once  to  meet  Rossetti  and  Samuel  Palmer, 
when  the  menu  actually  consisted  of  nothing 
more  luxurious  than  thin  pea-soup,  cold 
boiled  beef  (as  the  waiters  say,  "low  in 
cut"),  and  a  "roly-poly"  pudding.  Samuel 
Palmer  rose  superior  to  this  fare,  and  was 
cheery  and  charming  throughout  the  evening; 
but  it  was  otherwise  with  poor  Rossetti, 
who,  without  being  a  gourmand,  was  con- 
stitutionally unable  to  appreciate  plain  diet. 
His  normal  melancholy  deepened  into  positive 
gloom,   and   I   cannot  recollect  his   uttering 


A  Spartan  Repast  225 

a  syllable  during  the  whole  of  dinner,  at 
which  he  sat  like  one  of  the  figures  at  the 
banquet  in  Holman  Hunt's  picture  of 
"Isabella  and  the  Pot  of  Basil."  Valpy 
seemed  quite  unconscious  of  offense,  and 
to  see  him  persistently  plying  Rossetti  with 
"roly-poly,"  which  the  poet-painter  as  per- 
sistently refused  in  ever  more. deeply  accent- 
uated tones  of  weary  dejection,  was  inex- 
pressibly comic. 

On  a  similar  occasion  I  remember  meeting 
poor  Fred  Walker,  then  at  the  height  of 
his  fame,  yet  far  more  modest  and  unpre- 
tending than  many  a  man  who  has  never 
risen  above  mediocrity.  His  talk  was  more 
about  fishing  than  art,  though  I  remember 
he  expressed  his  despair  at  the  way  in  which 
his  illustrations  had  been  reproduced  in  the 
Cornhill  Magazine.  Valpy  had  the  good 
judgment  to  buy  Walkers  exquisite  "May 
Tree  "  drawing,  perhaps  the  most  perfect  of  all 
his  water-colors,  acquiring  it  for  only  a  tithe 
of  the  sum  which  it  would  now  command. 


226  Art  and  Letters 

Howell  (to  whom  I  will  now  return)  was 
not  long  in  revealing  symptoms  of  those 
manners  and  customs  which  finally  placed 
him  beyond  the  pale  even  of  the  tolerant 
pre-Raphaelite  brotherhood.  His  ethics  of 
finance,  as  bearing  on  the  functions  of  an 
agent,  were,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  eccentric, 
while  his  borrowings  grew  almost  as  per- 
sistent as  those  of  Harold  Skimpole.  After, 
stubborn  resistance,  though  at  that  time  ill 
able  to  afford  it,  I  on  one  occasion  suc- 
cumbed to  his  plausible  supplications  and 
lent  him  fifty  pounds.  Unfortunately,  my 
banking  account  happened  to  be  at  the 
western  branch  of  the  Bank  of  England, 
a  fact  which  Howell,  on  glancing  at  the 
check,  instantly  endeavored  to  turn  to  his 
advantage!  "Hullo,  my  dear  chap!1'  he 
trolled  out  with  his  seductive  soupcon  of  a 
foreign  accent,  "  I  had  no  idea  you  were 
such  a  corny  cove  !  Bank  of  England !  By 
Jove!  and  you  make  all  this  fuss  about 
lending  a  fellow  a  paltry  fifty-pound  note!" 


Raising  a  Loan  227 

In  vain  I  explained  that  one  might  be  a 
customer  of  the  Bank  of  England  with  next 
to  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  balance.  With 
an  incredulous  leer  he  pocketed  the  check 
and  retired  with  his  tongue  in  his  cheek, 
intoning:  "  By  George!  A  fellow  must  be  a 
coiny  bird  to  bank  with  the  Bank  of  Eng- 
land!" This  unfortunate  misconception  of 
my  monetary  resources,  coupled  with  a 
normal  deficiency  in  his  own,  resulted  in  my 
not  seeing  my  fifty  sovereigns  again  for  two 
or  three  years.  At  last,  after  incessant 
applications,  followed  by  voluminous  threats 
of  legal  proceedings,  Howell  alighted  one 
day  at  my  chambers  from  a  hansom  and 
stalked  in  with  the  air  of  a  deeply  injured 
man. 

"I've  brought  your  coin,"  he  almost  moaned 
as  he  deposited  the  notes  and  specie  on  my 
table  (I  had  resolutely  refused  to  accept  a 
check);  "but  upon  my  soul  I  have  never 
heard  such  a  fuss  made  about  a  beggarly 
fifty  pounds  in  all  my  life,  and  that  from  a 


228  Art  and  Letters 

cove  who  banks  with  the  Bank  of  England ! " 
I  made  some  exculpatory  reply,  but  Howell 
proceeded  still  more  moodily:  "And  only 
to  think  of  you,  of  all  chaps,  refusing  a 
fellow's  check!  Hang  it!  I  don't  mind 
being  dunned;  but  want  of  confidence — by 
George !  that  cuts  me  to  the  heart ! "  Again 
I  attempted  to  clear  myself.  "  Oh,  never 
mind,  never  mind,"  he  proceeded  magnani- 
mously; "only  if  you  had  invalid  parents  to 

maintain  in  Portugal "      Then,  glancing 

at  the  clock,  he  suddenly  interjected:  "But 
I  can't  stay  any  longer.  I  haven't  had  a 
mouthful  since  breakfast,  and  as  for  that 
cabman,  he's  been  tooling  me  about  ever 
since  ten  ! "  Then,  with  an  ingratiatory  smile, 
sidling  up  to  the  table  he  coaxingly  added: 
"I  wonder  if  you'd  lend  me  a  quid  for  my 
cab  fare  ?  I'll  send  it  back  to  you  to-morrow, 
of  course,  but  this  fifty  pounds  of  yours  has 
regularly  cleaned  me  out."  And  before  I 
could  utter  a  word  of  protest  his  itching  palm 
had  clutched  one   of  my  hardly  recovered 


A  Masterly  Maneuver  229 

sovereigns  and  he  was  off  like  an  eel  in  the 
direction  of  his  much-enduring  Jehu.  I 
never  saw  Howell  again,  nor  (needless  to  say) 
my  sovereign.  The  next  I  heard  of  him  was 
that  he  had  started  a  manufactory  of  Rossetti 
"facsimiles"  (I  am  afraid  his  victims  gave 
them  a  harsher  name),  and  had  been  dropped 
by  his  former  patrons,  though  I  believe 
Rossetti  chivalrously  refused  to  abandon  him 
long  after  every  one  else  had  done  so. 

I  was  destined,  however,  to  undergo  a 
mauvais  quart  d'heure  by  reason  of  Howell's 
" facsimiles"  later  on.  Years  before,  when 
he  was  in  the  odor  of  respectability  and  still 
the  accredited  agent  of  the  pre-Raphaelite 
group,  I  had  purchased  from  him,  on  behalf 
of  my  mother,  certain  Rossetti  drawings, 
as  to  the  authenticity  of  which  I  had  never 
entertained  a  doubt.  One  day,  however, 
early  in  the  period  of  Howell's  decadence, 
a  new  acquaintance  who  happened  to  call 
on  my  mother,  greatly  admiring  these  Rossetti 
drawings,  inquired  how  it  was  that  she  had 


230  Art  and  Letters 

been  able  to  acquire  them,  as  none  were 
ever  in  the  market.  "Oh,"  answered  my 
mother,  "they  were  bought  from  a  friend 
and  sort  of  agent  of  Rossetti's,  a  certain 
Mr.  Howell."  "Howell!"  exclaimed  the 
caller  with  pious  horror;  "then  I  am  afraid 
you'll  find  none  of  them  are  genuine ! " 
My  mother,  who  had  never  heard  of  Howell's 
new  enterprise,  though  she  had  long  ceased 
to  see  him  for  other  reasons,  immediately 
wrote  off  to  me  in  the  greatest  consternation, 
asking  what  was  to  be  done.  I  assured  her 
that  I  had  myself  no  doubt  of  the  genuineness 
of  the  drawings,  but  that  she  had  better,  ex 
abundante  cautela,  go  to  the  fountainhead 
and  write  to  Rossetti  himself  about  them. 
This  she  promptly  did;  but  my  horror  may 
be  imagined  when  Rossetti  replied  that  from 
her  description  he  failed  to  identify  a  single 
one  of  them.  In  desperation  I  wrote  back 
that  there  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done, 
and  that  was  to  ask  Rossetti  to  examine 
the  drawings  himself,   though  owing  to  his 


Questionable  Purchases  231 

ill-health,  which  had  then  become  habitual, 
I  greatly  doubted  whether  he  would  consent 
to  do  it.  However,  he  very  kindly  sent  his 
secretary  to  my  mother's  house  for  the 
drawings,  which  were  returned  the  next  day 
with  a  note  from  Rossetti  to  the  effect  that 
they  were  all  his  undoubted  work,  though 
he  had  failed  to  recognize  them  from  my 
mother's  description. 

Howell  curiously  did  not  long  survive 
Rossetti,  dying,  I  understood,  in  one  of  the 
houses  he  had  so  astutely  acquired  near 
the  district  railway,  with  the  very  respect- 
able savings  of  over  £4,000;  in  fact,  almost, 
as  he  would  have  termed  it,  "a  coiny  cove," 
though  he  had  considerably  impaired  the 
"coininess"  of  other  people.  Perhaps  one 
of  his  former  literary  intimates  will  one 
day  present  him,  adequately  illuminated, 
to  posterity. 

Mr.  Watts-Dunton  tried  his  hand  on  Howell 
in  his  novel  "Aylwin,"  but  somehow  with 
no    great    effect.      Possibly   the  genius  who 


232  Art  and  Letters 

created    "Tito   Melema"  was  alone  capable 
of   doing  him  justice. 

About  this  time  I  first  met  the  late  John 
Trivett  Nettleship,  the  gifted  animal  painter, 
one  of  a  famous  quartet  of  brothers,  the 
sons  of  a  country  solicitor,  whose  profession 
John  Nettleship  originally  followed.  Those 
who  only  knew  him  as  a  lord  of  bohemia 
will  be  surprised  to  learn  that  in  the  late 
sixties,  when  he  was  still  in  the  law,  he 
was  one  of  the  most  sprucely  attired  gentle- 
men in  the  precincts  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  though 
always  marked  by  a  leonine  pose  of  the 
head  which  in  later  years  gave  him  an  air 
of  signal  distinction.  He  then  presided,  I 
believe,  over  the  conveyancing  department 
in  an  important  London  office,  and  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  thoroughly  capable 
lawyer.  At  heart,  however,  he  had  little 
in  common  with  parchment  and  red-tape, 
and  after  a  preliminary  excursion  into  litera- 
ture which  took  the  form  of  a  remarkable 
volume  of  essays  on  the  poetry  of  Robert 


J.  T.  Nettleship  233 

Browning,    then   far   less    "  understanded   of 
the  people"  than  is  the  case  at  present,  he 
finally  shook  himself  free  from  the  law  and 
boldly  cast  in  his  lot  with  art.     Though  still 
under  thirty,  he  was  comparatively   old  to 
make  a  start  as  an  artist,  and  this  fact  probably 
accounts  for  a  certain  deficiency  in  technique 
that  was  more  or  less  perceptible  in  his  work 
even  to  the  end  of  his  career.     But  in  point 
of  mere  conception  he  unquestionably  sur- 
passed every  animal  painter  of  his  or  perhaps 
of  any  other  time,  being  gifted  with  an  un- 
failing keenness   of    sympathy   and  instinct 
which  are  not  always  to  be  found  in  the  more 
finished  work  of  Landseer  and  Riviere.     It 
was  not,  however,  with  animals  that  Nettle- 
ship's  imagination  found  the  widest    scope, 
his  black-and-white  and  pencil  studies,   in- 
spired by  mythical  and  purely  fanciful  sub- 
jects,   being    in    many    instances    quite    as 
remarkable  as  the  creations  of  William  Blake. 
He  was,  in  truth,  a  poet  in  everything  but 
verbal    expression,    which,    nevertheless,    in 


234  Art  and  Letters 

his  prose  writings  and  correspondence  was 
always  conspicuous  for  its  poignant  felicity. 
There  is,  I  think,  no  doubt  that  his  essays 
on  Browning's  poetry  contributed  con- 
siderably to  a  better  appreciation  of  the  poet, 
which  the  latter  never  failed  to  recognize. 
I  have  frequently  consulted  him  as  to  the 
interpretation  to  be  placed  on  certain  of 
Browning's  obscure  passages,  and  never  with- 
out gaining  enlightenment,  though  occasion- 
ally he  would  read  more  into  a  line  or  phrase 
than  was  intended  by  the  author.  I  remem- 
ber once  appealing  to  him  as  to  the  identity 
of  "The  Lost  Leader,' '  who,  after  careful 
consideration,  I  felt  convinced  could  be  no 
other  than  Wordsworth,  though  most  of  the 
Browning  students  of  that  day  scouted  the 
idea  as  utterly  unworthy  of  the  writer. 
Nettleship,  however,  agreed  with  me;  but 
my  indignant  friends  declined  to  accept  so 
distasteful  a  confirmation,  even  from  him. 
I  accordingly  asked  him  to  get  an  authorita- 
tive decision  from  Browning  himself.     This 


"The  Lost  Leader"  235 

he  did,  with  the  result  that  Browning  ad- 
mitted that  "  The  Lost  Leader  "  was  intended 
to  represent  Wordsworth,  though,  he  added, 
he  had  since  regretted  it.  I  confess  I  do 
not  quite  see  why.  After  allowing  for  a  little 
poetic  exaggeration,  the  lines  only  record  the 
actual,  if  awkward,  fact  that  Wordsworth, 
after  professing  virtual  republicanism,  exe- 
cuted a  political  volte-face  and  became  a  Tory 
placeman  at  the  nomination  of  one  of  the 
greatest  of  territorial  autocrats.  To  tell  the 
truth,  Mr.  Browning  had  himself  after  middle 
age  considerably  toned  down  the  political 
opinions  and  predilections  of  his  youth,  and 
when  I  chanced  to  meet  him  on  more  than 
one  occasion  in  the  seventies  and  early 
eighties  he  was  by  no  means  given  to 
making  the  least  of  his  intimacy  with  mem- 
bers of  the  nobility  whose  names  and  titles 
came  floating  across  the  dinner  table  with 
quite  unnecessary  articulateness.  "The  pity 
of  it ! "  Such  intellectual  monarchs  as 
Browning  and  Jowett,  flushed  with  elation 


236  Art  and  Letters 

at  the  honor  of  dining  at  a  peer's  table  or 
mingling  in  the  crowd  at  a  peeress's  crush ! 
It  was  all  very  well  for  them  to  attempt  to 
justify  themselves  by  contending  that  their 
patrician  hosts  were  such  particularly  good 
company.  Had  Lord  Tomnoddy  been  plain, 
uncoroneted  Tom  Snooks,  his  unintellec- 
tuality  would  have  roused  in  each  of  them 
inextinguishable  scorn.  It  was  not  the  head, 
but  the  head-gear — the  halo-invested  coronet 
— that  constituted  the  charm;  and  so,  I 
suppose,  it  will  be  to  the  end  of  time,  or  at 
all  events  till  the  abolition  of  titles. 

One  of  the  courtliest  men  in  art  circles 
was  the  late  Sir  Edgar  Boehm,  whose  studio 
I  had  occasion  to  visit  more  than  once  in 
connection  with  the  medallion  of  a  relative, 
which  he  had  been  commissioned  to  execute. 
At  that  time  he  had  just  finished  his  noble 
effigy  of  Dean  Stanley,  close  to  which  was 
placed  another  of  the  Prince  Imperial,  the 
very  one  which  the  Dean  had  been  so  anxious 
to    import    into    the    Abbey.     "A    curious 


Sir  Edgar  Boehm  237 

thing  happened  with  reference  to  that  effigy,' ' 
remarked  Sir  Edgar.  "  Stanley,  as  you  know, 
had  been  very  anxious  that  it  should  be 
placed  in  Westminster  Abbey,  but  the  oppo- 
sition to  his  proposal  was  so  strong  that 
eventually,  though  with  not  too  good  a 
grace,  he  gave  way  and  abandoned  his 
project.  Well,,,  continued  Sir  Edgar,  "not 
long  before  his  death  he  came  to  see  this 
effigy,  and  after  gazing  at  it  intently  for 
some  moments  he  muttered  to  himself  ab- 
stractedly, 'I  was  wrong  about  that' — the  only 
intimation  I  believe  he  ever  gave  that  he 
had  changed  his  mind.  "  Carlyle,  it  will  be 
remembered,  took  a  very  active  part  in  op- 
posing the  Dean's  proposal,  which  I  suppose 
prompted  his  famous  death-bed  adjuration, 
"Save  me  from  that  body-snatcher ! " 

I  never  was  fortunate  enough  to  see  Mr. 
Thackeray,  but  I  remember  well  the  profound 
impression  that  was  created  by  the  news 
of  his  sudden  death,  though  I  think  his 
work  is   more  appreciated  now  than  it  was 


238  Art  and  Letters 

then.  On  the  whole,  he  has  received  from 
posterity  his  due,  and  perhaps  rather  more, 
for  with  the  exception  of  "  Vanity  Fair"  and 
"  Esmond,"  none  of  his  novels  can  claim  to 
be  of  the  highest  order.  "The  Newcomes," 
though  full  of  exquisite  passages  and  adorned 
with  one  ineffably  beautiful  piece  of  char- 
acterization, Colonel  Newcome,  is  poorly 
constructed  and  far  too  prodigal  of  "  preachi- 
ness" — faults  which  are  even  more  conspic- 
uous in  "Pendennis."  It  may  seem  heresy 
to  say  so,  but  I  venture  to  think  that  Trol- 
lope's  "Barchester  Towers"  and  "Framley 
Parsonage"  are,  as  "society  novels,"  superior 
to  both  "Pendennis"  and  "The  Newcomes," 
though  of  course  very  inferior  in  the  matter 
of  style.  It  has  always  struck  me  that  after 
"Vanity  Fair"  and  "Esmond,"  Thackeray's 
finest  piece  of  work  is  "The  Chronicle  of 
the  Drum,"  surely  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able combinations  of  satire  and  pathos  ever 
penned  in  rhyme.  I  can  never  read  that 
stanza  commencing  with 


Thackeray  and  Dickens  239 

"The     glorious     days     of     September 
Saw  many  aristocrats  fall," 

without  an  icy  shudder,  though  I  am  as 
familiar  with  it  as  I  am  with  "The  May 
Queen."  Thackeray  would  have  written  a 
superb  history  of  the  French  Revolution, 
which  I  make  bold  to  say  he  understood 
infinitely  better  than  Carlyle,  who  had  neither 
knowledge  of  nor  insight  into  the  French 
character  and  temperament. 

It  is  difficult  to  form  a  personal  estimate 
of  Thackeray.  He  was  evidently  a  man 
of  moods — one  day  all  sunshine  and  geniality, 
the  next  sardonic  and  in  a  sense  cantankerous. 
But,  on  the  whole,  the  sunshine  predominated, 
and  the  record  of  his  beautiful  sayings  and 
doings  puts  the  converse  characteristics 
(which  at  times  were  all  too  conspicuous)  well 
into  the  shade.  To  him  must  be  credited 
the  most  chivalrous  utterance  that,  I 
suppose,  ever  emanated  from  a  man  of 
letters.  Dickens,  who  never  liked  him,  told 
a  friend  that  he  could  see  nothing  to  admire 


240  Art  and  Letters 

in  one  of  Thackeray's  novels,  then  being 
serially  produced;  and  the  friend,  who  knew 
both  the  great  authors,  with  friendship's 
traditional  "  damned  good-naturedness,"  re- 
ported the  opinion  to  Thackeray.  It  must 
have  rankled  deeply,  but  all  the  comment 
Thackeray  made  was,  "  I  am  afraid  I  cannot 
return  the  compliment,  for  there  is  not  a 
page  that  Mr.  Dickens  has  written  which  I 
have  not  read  with  the  greatest  delight  and 
admiration."  I  heard  this  from  Mr.  Justin 
M'Carthy,  who  knew  Thackeray  slightly  and 
was  engaged  to  dine  with  him  on  the  evening 
of  the  day  on  which  he  died.  Mr.  M'Carthy 
considered  that  Thackeray  created  quite 
erroneous  impressions  of  himself  by  often 
indulging  in  irony  in  the  presence  of  people 
who  were  incapable  of  understanding  it. 
One  curious  instance  which  he  gave  was  this: 
Thackeray  had  been  dining  at  the  Garrick, 
and  was  chatting  in  the  smoking-room  after 
dinner  with  various  club  acquaintances.  One 
of  them  happening  to  have  left  his  cigar-case 


A  Schoolfellow  of  Thackeray         241 

at  home,  Thackeray,  though  disliking  the 
man,  who  was  a  notorious  tuft  hunter,  good- 
naturedly  offered  him  one  of  his  cigars. 
The  man  accepted  the  cigar,  but  not  finding 
it  to  his  liking,  had  the  bad  taste  to  say 
to  Thackeray,  "  I  say,  Thackeray,  you  won't 
mind  my  saying  I  don't  think  much  of  this 
cigar."  Thackeray,  no  doubt  irritated  at 
the  man's  ungraciousness,  and  bearing  in 
mind  his  tuft-hunting  predilections,  quietly 
responded,  "You  ought  to,  my  good  fellow, 
for  it  was  given  me  by  a  lord."  Instead, 
however,  of  detecting  the  irony,  the  dolt 
immediately  attributed  the  remark  to  snob- 
bishness on  Thackeray's  part,  and  to  the 
end  of  his  days  went  about  declaring  that 
"Thackeray  had  boasted  that  he  had  been 
given  a  cigar  by  a  lord." 

With  the  exception  of  Mr.  M'Carthy, 
I  have  met  only  two  men  who  knew 
Thackeray,  one  of  whom  certainly  deserves 
immortality,  though  unfortunately  I  am 
unable  to  record  his  name,  having  forgotten 


242  Art  and  Letters 

it  in  the  march  of  time.  I  met  this  individual 
at  dinner  nearly  thirty  years  ago,  when  in 
my  first  " Thackeray"  enthusiasm.  He  was 
a  gray-headed,  square-jawed  "diner-out," 
apparently  of  about  sixty-eight  or  seventy, 
with  an  assertive  nisi-prius  manner  and  one 
of  those  rasping  voices  that  seem  to  dominate 
the  dinner  table.  After  dinner,  on  the  de- 
parture of  an  intervening  lady,  I  found 
myself  compelled  to  "close  up"  to  this 
objectionable  fellow  guest.  As  it  happened, 
a  minute  or  two  previously  I  had  heard  him 
allude  to  the  Charterhouse  as  his  former 
public  school.  "Why,"  thought  I,  "this 
old  gentleman  was  most  probably  at  the 
Charterhouse  with  Thackeray;  suppose  I 
break  the  ice  by  inquiring."  Accordingly, 
after  an  uncomfortable  moment  in  which  he 
seemed  to  be  considering  whether  I  was 
worth  talking  to  or  not,  I  timidly  ventured 
to  remark  that  I  had  heard  him  alluding 
to  the  Charterhouse,  and  wondered  if  by 
any  chance  he  was  there  with  Thackeray. 


A  Schoolfellow  of  Thackeray         243 

"Thackeray,  sir?  What  Thackeray?"  he 
answered,  with  a  contemptuous  stare.  "  I 
mean  the  great  Thackeray,"  I  rejoined, 
rather  astonished.  "What!"  he  rejoined; 
"the  fellow  who  wrote  books?  Oh,  yes;  he 
was  my  fag,  and  a  sniveling  little  beggar  I 
thought  him.  Often  have  I  given  him  a  sound 
kick  for  a  false  quantity  in  his*  Latin  verses. 
I  thought  nothing  of  him,  sir — nothing,  I 
can  assure  you!"  "Ah,  but,"  I  exclaimed, 
"you  have  changed  your  opinion  since,  of 
course?"  "Not  at  all,"  he  growled,  "not 
at  all;  why  should  I?"  "Why,  on  account 
of  his  books,"  I  retorted,  fairly  staggered. 
"  Never  read  a  syllable  of  them,  I  give  you 
my  word ! "  he  growled  with  magnificent 
complacency;  then,  turning  his  back  with  a 
gesture  of  infinite  disdain,  he  proceeded  to 
tackle  his  neighbor  on  the  other  side.  When 
I  told  this  to  Mr.  M'Carthy,  he  felicitously 
observed,  "What  wouldn't  Thackeray  have 
given  to  have  known  that  man  ! " 

The  other  acquaintance  of  Thackeray  whom 


244  Art  and  Letters 

I  happened  to  come  across  was  the  late  Sir 
Russell  Reynolds,  the  eminent  physician. 
He  mentioned  that  he  met  Thackeray  at 
dinner  when  Miss  Thackeray's  exquisite 
1  'Story  of  Elizabeth"  had  just  appeared,  and 
he  told  Thackeray  how  much  he  admired  it. 
"I  am  very  glad,"  said  Thackeray;  "but  I 
can  form  no  opinion  of  its  merits,  as  I  have 
not  read  it."  "Not  read  it!"  exclaimed 
Doctor  Reynolds  in  great  surprise.  "No," 
said  Thackeray;  "I  dared  not.  I  love  her 
too  much." 

I  do  not  think  that  Thackeray  was  ever 
quite  satisfied  with  mere  literary  success; 
at  all  events,  he  was  extremely  anxious  to 
blend  with  it  a  considerable  degree  of  social 
prestige.  To  be  appointed  secretary  of 
legation  at  Washington,  or  to  belong  to  the 
Travelers'  Club,  would,  I  believe,  have 
given  him  almost  as  much  gratification  as 
he  ever  derived  from  any  success  of  author- 
ship. But  neither  aspiration  was  destined 
to  be  fulfilled.     He  was  certainly  unqualified 


Social  Aspirations  245 

for  the  secretaryship,  nor,  even  if  the  Trav- 
elers' Club  had  honored  itself  by  electing 
him,  would  he  have  found  himself  in  con- 
genial company.  But  the  members  of  that 
select  community  were,  no  doubt,  chary  of 
admitting  a  "chiel  among  them"  with  such 
a  consummate  faculty  for  "taking  notes, " 
which  Thackeray  had  certainly  not  been 
guiltless  of  doing  at  other  clubs  to  which  he 
belonged — witness  the  immortal  Foker,  who 
was  unquestionably  suggested  by  Mr.  Arce- 
deckne.  Although  no  admirer  of  the  late 
Mr.  Edmund  Yates  and  his  methods,  I  must 
confess  that  I  cannot  see  such  an  immensity 
of  difference  between  ridiculing  a  fellow 
member  under  another  name  in  a  novel  and 
portraying  him  by  his  own  in  a  newspaper. 
Thackeray's  portrait  of  Mr.  Arcedeckne  in 
"  Pendennis  "  was  as  unmistakable  as  Yates's 
sketch  of  Thackeray  in  The  Man  About  Town 
(the  name,  I  think,  of  Yates 's  journal) ;  but 
the  fact  was  that  Thackeray,  as  a  great  man, 
felt  himself  free  to  do  what  in  Yates  as  a 


246  Art  and  Letters 

small  man  was  an  unwarrantable  presump- 
tion, especially  when  his  object  of  attack 
was  Mr.  Thackeray  himself.  The  Garrick 
Club  quarrel  was,  in  truth,  not  creditable  to 
any  one  concerned.  Yates  behaved  offen- 
sively, and  Thackeray  with  a  lack  of  consist- 
ency, while  Dickens,  in  his  eager  espousal 
of  Yates,  revealed  an  animus  against  his 
great  rival  which  was  very  far  from  edifying. 
I  have  alluded  to  Anthony  Trollope  in  his 
capacity  of  a  novelist,  and  though  he  is  now 
completely  out  of  fashion  I  venture  to  think 
that  the  day  will  come  when  his  star  will 
reappear  in  the  literary  firmament,  though 
perhaps  not  for  many  years  yet.  Scant 
justice  has  surely  been  done  to  the  fidelity 
with  which  he  drew  an  infinite  variety  of 
types.  His  dukes,  his  dandies,  his  hunting- 
men,  his  squires,  his  civil  servants,  his  bar- 
risters, his  solicitors,  and,  above  all,  his 
clergy,  are  absolutely  true  to  the  life — 
though  it  must  be  admitted  that  of  all  these 
characters  the  civil  servant  is  the  only  one 


Anthony  Trollope  247 

with  which  he  was  intimately  acquainted. 
He  was  once  asked  by  a  friend  of  mine,  the 
wife  of  a  church  dignitary,  whence  he  derived 
his  material  for  his  wonderful  novel  "Bar- 
chester  Towers/ '  and,  to  her  amazement,  he 
solemnly  assured  her  that  when  he  wrote  it 
he  was  not  acquainted  with  a  single  cathedral 
dignitary.  Take,  again,  Mr.  Sowerby,  the 
spendthrift  county  M.  P.  in  "  Framley  Par- 
sonage";  the  characterization  is.  astonishingly 
accurate,  yet  at  the  time  I  doubt  if  Trollope 
had  ever  spoken  to  a  county  member  of 
Parliament.  I  know  of  only  one  parallel 
example  of  unerring  instinct,  and  that  was 
the  dramatist  Tom  Robertson.  A  friend  of 
mine,  a  retired  army  officer,  knew  Robertson 
in  his  provincial  management  days,  and  he 
and  some  of  his  brother  officers,  when  sta- 
tioned at  Chatham,  used,  out  of  sheer  com- 
passion for  poor  Robertson,  to  take  now  and 
then  the  front  row  of  the  usually  empty  stalls, 
an  attention  which  Robertson  always  grate- 
fully acknowledged.     Later  on,  when  Robert- 


248  Art  and  Letters 

son  took  to  play- writing  and  " struck  oil" 
with  his  charming  comedies,  nearly  all  deal- 
ing with  fashionable  society  as  it  was  in  that 
day,  my  friend,  mindful  of  his  antecedents, 
asked  him  how  he  had  managed  to  write 
the  plays,  adding  that  he  presumed  Robert- 
son must  have  lately  found  his  way  into 
really  first-rate  society.  "  My  dear  sir," 
Robertson  replied,  "you  may  not  perhaps 
believe  me,  but  I  never  stayed  in  a  great 
house  except  once,  and  that  was  for  a  single 
night  to  arrange  some  theatricals,  when  I 
dined  in  the  housekeepers  room."  The 
unerring  instinct,  however,  was  there,  and 
an  uninitiated  spectator  would  have  supposed 
that  the  author  had  been  mixing  in  good 
society  all  his  life.  I  was  lucky  enough  to 
be  present  at  the  opening  night,  if  not  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theater,  at  all  events 
of  Robertson's  first  play,  "Society,"  being 
taken  there  by  a  schoolfellow  with  whom 
I  was  staying  in  the  Christmas  holidays. 
The  stalls  were,  I  remember,  priced  at  five 


Tom  Robertson  249 

shillings,  and  the  balcony  stalls  at  three.  It 
was,  I  think,  in  " Society"  that  John  Hare 
was  first  introduced  to  a  London,  or  at  all 
events  to  a  West  End,  audience  in  the  char- 
acter  of  Lord  Ptarmigant  —  a  henpecked, 
soporific  peer,  whose  part  mainly  consisted 
in  the  mumbling  of  an  occasional  protest 
and  in  falling  asleep  propped  up  on  a  couple 
of  chairs.  But  Hare  contrived  to  invest  it 
with  such  delicate  and  original  humor  that 
from  that  night  his  success  was  assured. 
All  the  acting  was,  I  remember,  fastidiously 
finished  and  refined,  the  acme  of  high-comedy 
impersonation,  and,  to  paraphrase  the  famous 
definition  of  the  first  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
London  discovered  that  at  last  there  was  a 
theater  where  it  could  see  refined  pieces 
"  played  by  ladies  and  gentlemen  for  ladies 
and  gentlemen.' '  But,  alas  !  poor  Robertson 
was  permitted  to  enjoy  only  the  briefest 
taste  of  this  long-deferred  prosperity.  Just 
as  his  name  was  on  every  one's  lips  and  the 
money  he  had  all  his  life  needed  so  sorely 


250  Art  and  Letters 

beginning  steadily  to  stream  in,  Fate,  by- 
one  of  its  cruel  strokes  of  irony,  laid  him  low 
with  a  terrible  disease  to  which  he  rapidly 
succumbed.  It  is  the  fashion  nowadays  to 
decry  his  work;  but  if  slight,  it  was  surely  of  a 
higher  type  than  such  dramas  as  "The 
Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray"  and  "The  Gay  Lord 
Quex,"  which,  however  powerful,  depict  only 
the  worst  and  most  depraved  side  of  society. 
Another  theatrical  feature  of  that  day 
was  the  healthy  laugh-compelling  burlesque 
which  Mr.  Byron  and  the  present  Sir  Frank 
Burnand  were  peculiarly  felicitous  in  com- 
posing. Burnand's  '  *  Black-eyed  Susan, ' ' 
with  Miss  Patty  Oliver  in  the  part  of  Susan, 
had  for  those  days  the  phenomenal  run 
of  over  a  year,  and  well  was  it  justified. 
The  rhymes,  the  puns,  the  "go,"  even  the 
"gag,"  were  all  superlative  of  their  kind; 
while  the  acting  was  inimitable,  especially 
that  of  Susan's  mother  and  Captain  Cross- 
tree.  The  latter's  song,  commencing  "Cap- 
tain Crosstree  is  my    name,"   was    encored 


"The  Windsor  Strollers  "  251 

nightly,  often  six  times ;  and  I  knew  one  staid 
old  gentleman  with  a  grown-up  family  who 
spent  sixty  nights  of  that  particular  twelve- 
month in  the  contemplation  of  Miss  Oliver 
and  her  gifted  troupe.  Almost  an  equal 
treat,  though  of  a  different  kind,  was  this 
delightful  actress's  impersonation  of  Meg  in 
"  Meg's  Diversion,"  her  simple,  tender  pathos 
drawing  tears  from  almost  every  eye  in 
the  house. 

Miss  Oliver  was,  I  think,  one  of  the 
actresses  who  occasionally  consented  to  play 
with  "The  Windsor  Strollers,"  whose  great- 
est vogue  was  in  the  later  sixties  and 
the  early  seventies.  Its  constitution  was 
curious — several  guardsmen,  one  or  two 
extraneous  officers,  and  a  few  civilians,  of 
whom  the  celebrated  "Tom"  Holmes  and 
Palgrave  Simpson  were  the  most  notable. 
"Tom"  Holmes  died  not  long  ago  at  a 
fabulous  age,  gay  and  vigorous  almost  to  the 
last.  He  must  have  been  nearly  eighty  when 
I  saw  him  at  a  supper  of  the  "Strollers," 


252  Art  and  Letters 

but  he  still  followed  the  hounds,  astonishing 
the  Leicestershire  field  by  appearing  in  a 
sort  of  Astley  Circus  costume,  on  a  long- 
tailed  white  quadruped  which  also  strongly 
suggested  the  arena. 

Palgrave  Simpson's  connection  with  "The 
Windsor  Strollers"  was  not  altogether  satis- 
factory to  himself.  One  of  those  extremely 
vain  individuals  who  take  even  the  most 
good-natured  banter  seriously,  his  amour 
propre  encountered  more  than  one  rude 
shock  from  his  dramatic  confreres.  But  for 
his  most  crucial  experience  of  this  kind  he 
was  indebted  to  one  of  the  audience  on  the 
occasion  of  a  performance  in  which  he  took 
a  leading  part  at  the  Windsor  Theater. 
The  piece  was  rather  a  stagy  melodrama, 
in  which  Simpson  had  cast  himself  for  the 
principal  character — one  that  lent  itself  to 
a  good  deal  of  "emotional"  acting.  Pal- 
grave Simpson,  who  was  never  one  of  the 
"restrained"  school  of  players,  in  his  anxiety 
to  make  the  hit  of  the  evening  persistently 


Palgrave  Simpson  253 

overaccentuated  his  part,  finally  prolonging 
the  crowning  moment  with  interminable  gasps 
and  gurgles,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  made 
a  sort  of  hand-and-knee  progress  across  the 
stage.  At  that  moment  one  of  the  "  gods,  " 
unable  to  stand  this  inarticulate  prelude  any- 
longer,  shouted  encouragingly  from  the  gal- 
lery: "Come!  Spit  it  out,  old  man!"  In 
an  instant  Palgrave  Simpson  sprang  to  his 
feet  and,  rushing  to  the  footlights,  shrilled 
out  in  a  paroxysm  of  fury,  "  Unless  that  man 
is  removed  I  shall  decline  to  take  any  further 
part  in  the  play."  The  scene  that  ensued 
may  be  imagined:  the  man  refused  to  leave 
and  Simpson  to  act;  eventually,  however, 
he  was  sufficiently  mollified  to  finish  his 
part;  but  the  ordeal  of  that  night,  and  of 
another  less  agonizing,  when  in  the  green- 
room he  found  himself  confronted  with  the 
following  inscription  chalked  on  a  black- 
board, "Palgrave  Simpson  cannot  act  a 
damn  ! "  rendered  the  "  Strollers  "  too  trying 
an  association  to  enlist  much  of  his  talent. 


254  Art  and  Letters 

Of  all  the  English  actors  I  have  seen  during 
the  last  forty  years,  I  think  Alfred  Wigan 
was  artistically  the  most  perfect.  He  seemed 
to  have  the  indefinable  quality  possessed  by 
Aimee  Desclee:  the  power,  so  to  speak,  of 
silently  insinuating  himself  into  the  recesses 
of  the  heart.  The  most  perfect  representa- 
tions of  pathos  I  have  ever  witnessed  on  the 
stage  were  those  of  Wigan  as  the  old  father 
in  the  little  one-act  piece,  "The  First  Night," 
and  of  Aimee  Desclee  as  "Frou  Frou."  I 
think  it  is  no  disparagement  to  Madame 
Bernhardt  to  affirm  that  Mademoiselle  Desclee 
struck  a  note  which  she  has  never  quite 
reached.  It  is  true,  when  I  saw  the  perform- 
ance of  "Frou  Frou"  Mademoiselle  Desclee 
(though  the  audience  was  unaware  of  it) 
was  actually  dying ,  a  circumstance  which, 
no  doubt,  lent  additional  poignancy  to  the 
death-scene  in  the  drama;  but  her  voice,  her 
form,  her  face,  all  possessed  an  intangible, 
almost  spiritual,  charm,  to  which  no  actress 
that   I  have  ever  seen  has  quite  attained. 


William  Terriss  255 

The  secret,  perhaps,  partly  lay  in  her  simple 
mode  of  life.  A  daughter  of  the  people,  she 
never  cared  to  dwell  amid  the  glittering 
Paris  world,  but  even  in  the  heyday  of  her 
fame  would  cross  the  Seine  every  night  to 
the  unpretentious  quartier  where  she  was 
born,  eventually  bequeathing  to  its  poor  all 
the  money  she  had  amassed  by  her  match- 
less art. 

"Frou  Frou"  interpreted  by  a  latter-day 
English  actress  does  not  sound  convincing, 
but  admirers  of  Miss  Winifred  Emery  who 
missed  seeing  her  in  an  English  version  some 
years  ago  at  the  Comedy  Theater  have  much 
to  regret.  She  revealed  a  capacity  for  deli- 
cate pathos  which  surprised  even  those 
most  familiar  with  her  powers,  and  gave  prom- 
ise of  a  really  great  career  in  serious  drama. 
The  Fates,  however,  have  ordained  that  she 
shall  cultivate  the  comic  Muse,  thus  sacri- 
ficing a  quality  which  is  now  more  than  ever 
needed  on  the  English  stage. 

The  faculty  of  arousing  tears  is  rather  rare 


256  Art  and  Letters 

among  our  actors  and  actresses,  but  in 
certain  pieces  Mrs.  Kendal  and  poor  William 
Terriss  could  unman  the  most  mundane 
and  matter-of-fact  audience.  Terriss's  most 
signal  triumph  in  this  respect  was  achieved 
a  few  weeks  before  his  tragic  death,  when 
his  superb  impersonation  of  William  in 
Douglas  Jerrold's  "  Black-eyed  Susan"  nightly 
melted  the  entire  house  to  tears.  It  was 
not  that  he  was  a  superlative  actor,  for  he 
had  many  defects,  but  somehow  he  stepped 
into  this  particular  part  as  if  he  had  been 
made  for  it  (he  started  life  in  the  navy),  and 
his  handsome,  manly  face,  his  cheery  voice 
and  genial,  sailor-like  simplicity  carried  all 
before  them.  Those  who  came  to  scoff 
remained  to  cry,  and  I  remember  seeing  a 
1  'smart"  young  lady,  who  had  boasted  to 
me  that  nothing  on  the  stage  ever  could  or 
would  move  her  to  tears,  leave  the  theater  a 
veritable  Niobe.  Apropos  of  Terriss's  death, 
a  friend  of  mine,  a  lady,  saw  the  whole  scene 
enacted  in  a  dream  a  day  or  two  before  the 


William  Terriss  257 

murder,  though  she  had  never  seen  Terriss 
either  on  or  off  the  stage.  All  the  surround- 
ings were  exactly  those  of  the  tragedy:  the 
passage,  the  flaring  light,  the  man  advancing 
in  the  cloak,  and  the  second  man  suddenly 
stepping  forward  and  stabbing  him.  She 
told  her  family  of  the  dream  when  she  came 
down  to  breakfast,  so  deeply  had  it  impressed 
her,  and  a  morning  or  two  afterward,  on 
taking  up  the  paper,  she  read  .the  account  of 
Terriss' s  murder.  The  only  parallel  that  I 
know  to  this  dream  was  that  of  the  Cornish 
gentleman  who  saw  in  a  similar  way,  with 
the  minutest  details,  the  assassination  of 
Spencer  Perceval,  a  day  or  two  before  it 
occurred,  though  he  had  never  set  eyes  on 
Mr.  Perceval  nor  on  any  portrait  of  him, 
but  merely  knew  him  by  repute  as  the  prime 
minister  of  the  day. 


V. 

PERSONAGES  AND  RETROSPECTS 


Disraeli — Disraeli  and  Gladstone — A  Parliamentary  Nestor 
— Canning — Lord  Melbourne  and  the  Importunate  Place- 
Hunter — Lord  Henry  Bentinck — Lady  Jersey — Disraeli 
in  the  Hunting-field — Prime  Ministers  as  Sportsmen — A 
Reminiscence  of  Mr.  Fox — Mementos  of  Lord  Chatham 
and  Mr.  Pitt — Miss  Perceval  and  George  III. — A  Military 
Veteran — Lady  Louisa  Tighe — Colonel  Tighe — William 
IV.  and-  His  Buffoonery — Lord  Byron — Mrs.  Stowe's 
Calumny — Sir  Percy  Shelley  and  Field  Place — The 
Transfiguration  of  London — Changes  and  Innovations. 


V. 

PERSONAGES  AND  RETROSPECTS. 

There  are,  I  suppose,  adequate  reasons 
for  Lord  Rowton's  long  delay  in  bringing  out 
the  Life  of  Lord  Beaconsfield,  but  it  would 
be  interesting  to  know  for  how  many  more 
years  they  are  likely  to  continue  in  force. 
In  the  meantime,  so  much  of  a  fragmentary 
character  has  been  written  about  this  extraor- 
dinary man,  a  good  deal  of  it  the  reverse 
of  complimentary,  that  the  prolonged  absence 
of  an  authoritative  biography  is  becoming 
distinctly  prejudicial  to  his  reputation.  The 
memoirs  of  the  first  John  Murray  do  not 
present  Disraeli,  as  a  young  man,  in  a  very 
creditable,  light;  and  certain  letters  of  his 
and  his  wife's,  published  in  the  most  recent 
volumes  of  the  Peel  correspondence,  are  far 
from  edifying  reading.     But  possibly  there  is 

261 


262  Personages  and  Retrospects 

much  to  be  said  in  explanation  with  which 
the  public  is  unfamiliar.  I  have  always  found 
it  easier  to  understand  his  complex  career  by- 
identifying  it  with  three  distinct  Disraelis: 
the  poseur  and  fop;  the  political  juggler;  and 
finally  the  "high  imperialist"  statesman, 
who  only  came  into  being  as  late  as  1874. 
Until  that  date  Disraeli's  political  status  had 
been  invariably  of  the  hand-to-mouth  order. 
When  he  found  himself  in  office  at  all,  it  was 
only  for  the  briefest  tenure,  and  never  accom- 
panied by  power.  Accordingly,  political 
greatness  being  his  fixed  object,  in  order  to 
keep  himself  afloat  till  the  tide  should  set 
his  way  he  was  driven  to  adopt  shifts  and 
expedients  to  which  otherwise  he  would 
never  have  resorted. 

At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  owned  that, 
whatever  he  may  have  felt,  he  displayed  very 
little  compunction  in  practising  these  derog- 
atory methods,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that 
he  should  have  earned  the  reputation  not 
only  with  his  opponents,  but  with  his  own 


Disraeli  263 

party,  of  being  deficient  in  scrupulousness. 
Becky  Sharp  once  uttered  a  dictum  to  the 
effect  that  goodness  would  be  easy  to  any 
one  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  good  income,  and 
no  doubt  Disraeli  entertained  the  same 
sentiment  in  the  matter  of  politics.  Once 
provided  with  a  handsome  majority,  he  found 
political  propriety  easily  practicable.  At  all 
events,  with  his  advent  to  real  power  in  1874 
he  immediately  discarded  his  former  shifty 
role,  and  thenceforth  played  without  inter- 
mission the  part  of  a  high-principled  and 
consistent  statesman.  It  was  in  a  measure, 
no  doubt,  owing  to  this  auspicious  change  in 
his  political  conduct  that  Queen  Victoria 
became  as  much  prepossessed  in  Disraeli's 
favor  as  a  few  years  before  she  had  been 
prejudiced  against  him.  Whether,  if  the 
Prince  Consort  had  survived,  the  Queen 
would  so  rapidly  have  overcome  her  antipathy 
is  open  to  question,  for  the  Prince's  distrust 
and  dislike  of  Disraeli  were  profound;  still, 
the   factors   that   weighed   with   the    Queen 


264  Personages  and  Retrospects 

would  probably  to  some  extent  have  influ- 
enced the  Prince,  at  all  events  sufficiently 
to  insure  an  attitude  of  toleration.  Of 
course  Disraeli  took  care  to  strengthen  his 
improved  position  with  the  sovereign  by 
neglecting  no  ingratiatory  means — such,  for 
instance,  as  adding  to  her  existing  titles  that 
of  empress;  but  the  Queen  was  far  too 
sensible  a  woman  to  be  solely  influenced  by 
such  amenities,  to  which,  compared  with 
sterling  principle,  she  attached  little  value. 
Thus  much  by  way  of  elucidating  Dis- 
raeli's political  character.  What  remains  for 
me  to  say  of  him  is  purely  in  his  social  aspect. 
For  my  first  fact  concerning  him  I  was 
indebted  to  an  old  gentleman  who  was  a 
schoolfellow  of  Disraeli's  at  his  second  school, 
a  private  seminary  in  the  north  or  east  of 
London,  and  my  informant's  chief  recollec- 
tion of  the  future  premier  was  in  connection 
with  his  lack  of  veracity,  which  he  declared 
was  painfully  conspicuous.  I  rather  gathered, 
however,  that  this  was  not  so  much  culpable 


"Oriental  Embroidery"  265 

untruthfulness  as  an  oriental  proclivity  for 
romancing  and  "embroidering,"  which  to  the 
ordinary  British  boy  is  far  less  venial  than 
the  common  "bung."  But  the  veteran 
declined  to  discuss  fine  distinctions,  content- 
ing himself  with  the  emphatic  avowal  that 
"Dizzy  was  the  biggest  liar  in  the  school, 
and,  indeed,  that  he  had  ever  known!" 
Murray  the  publisher,  already  referred  to, 
conceived  himself  to  be  the  victim  of  serious 
misstatements,  and  on  at  least  one  public 
occasion  Disraeli  certainly  did  not  stick  at 
a  trifle  where  a  departure  from  veracity 
seemed  likely  to  serve  his  purpose.  This 
was  at  his  election  for  Shrewsbury,  when, 
by  way  of  constructing  some  shred  of  local 
connection,  he  asserted,  or  at  all  events 
pointedly  implied,  that  he  had  been  educated 
at  Shrewsbury  School.  His  conduct,  too,  in 
the  matter  of  his  Parliamentary  panegyric 
on  the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  the  reverse 
of  creditable,  the  peroration  being  a  word- 
for-word  translation  of  some  funeral  address 


266  Personages  and  Retrospects 

of  Thiers — an  unacknowledged  appropri- 
ation which  was  particularly  unfortunate 
on  the  part  of  a  cabinet  minister  and 
leader  of  the  House  of  Commons.  But, 
with  these  two  exceptions,  I  am  not  aware 
that  Disraeli,  in  public  at  all  events,  ever 
justified  his  old  schoolfellow's  indictment, 
though  straightforwardness  could  not  cer- 
tainly be  called  one  of  his  strong  points. 

In  the  ordinary  sense  he  was  no  lover  of 
society,  but  to  the  end,  even  in  his  second 
premiership,  with  the  accessories  of  an  earl- 
dom and  the  Garter,  he  retained  that  marked 
veneration  for  rank  and  opulence  which  is 
more  or  less  pronounced  in  all  his  novels. 
Possibly  this  was  less  the  foible  of  a  parvenu 
than  a  tribute  to  two  all-important  elements 
in  the  great  political  game.  This  trait, 
coupled  with  an  eastern  proclivity  for  paying 
exaggerated  compliments,  gained  him  a  repu- 
tation for  servility  which  he  was  far  from 
really  deserving.  Women,  especially  pretty 
ones,  he  thought  fit  to  address  in  the  most 


Florid  Compliments  267 

inflated  style  of  flattery,  of  which  a  great 
and  very  beautiful  lady  once  related  to  a 
friend  of  mine  the  following  instance.  On 
some  occasion  she  happened  to  sit  next  to 
Lord  Beaconsfield  at  dinner,  and  on  raising 
her  wineglass  to  her  lips  was  much  discon- 
certed by  the  marked  and  deliberate  manner 
in  which  he  riveted  his  gaze  on  her  lifted 
arm — a  feeling  of  embarrassment  which 
developed  into  one  very  much  akin  to  dis- 
gust, when  a  sepulchral  voice  murmured  in 
her  ear,  "  Canova  ! "  The  compliment  was 
probably  of  the  type  which  he  had  found 
particularly  welcome  in  the  saloons  of  Lady 
Blessington,  but  to  a  beauty  of  fastidious 
refinement  it  is  not  surprising  that  such 
"floridity"  was  far  from  palatable. 

With  intellectual  women  he  had,  appar- 
ently, not  much  sympathy;  in  fact,  the 
feminine  society  he  most  affected  was  that 
of  ladies  more  distinguished  for  rank  than 
for  talent.  A  dowager  of  this  order  who 
knew  him  well,  and  was  discussing  him  with 


268  Personages  and  Retrospects 

me  after  his  death,  gave  a  curious  example  of 
what  she  called  his  " funny  sayings."  It 
appears  that  he  happened  to  mention  in 
the  course  of  an  afternoon  call  that  there 
were  two  possessions  which  every  one  owned 
as  a  matter  of  course,  but  which  he  had  all 
his  life  dispensed  with,  and  insisted  that 
the  old  Countess  should  guess  what  they 
were.  "  I  made,"  she  said,  "  every  kind  of 
conjecture,  but  without  success,  and  on  my 
asking  him  to  enlighten  me  he  solemnly 
answered  that  they  were  a  watch  and  an 
umbrella.  'But  how  do  you  manage/  I 
asked,  'if  there  happens  to  be  no  clock  in 
the  room  and  you  want  to  know  the  time?, 
'I  ring  for  a  servant/  was  the  magniloquent 
reply.  'Well/  I  continued,  'and  what  about 
the  umbrella  ?  What  do  you  do,  for  instance, 
if  you  are  in  the  park  and  are  caught  in  a 
sudden  shower ?'  'I  take  refuge/  he  replied, 
with  a  smile  of  excessive  gallantry,  'under 
the  umbrella  of  the  first  pretty  woman  I 
meet!'" 


A  Fair  Enthusiast  269 

On  one  occasion  this  habit  of  exaggerated 
adulation  led  to  so  bold  an  attempt  by  the 
fair  recipient  to  turn  it  to  her  advantage 
that  he  was  driven  to  save  the  situation  in 
a  way  that  was  very  far  from  being  appre- 
ciated. The  charmer,  a  young  lady  of 
"  advanced  views,"  finding  the  great  man 
so  exceedingly  profuse  in  his  attentions, 
thought  it  an  excellent  opportunity  for 
making  him  a  convert  to  her  Utopian  ideals, 
which  were  of  the  most  daringly  democratic 
order.  After  a  long  recitation  of  her  propa- 
ganda she  wound  up  with  a  fervid  appeal  to 
the  Prime  Minister  to  immortalize  himself 
by  espousing  her  ingenious  panacea  for 
remedying  the  wrongs  of  humanity.  As  she 
finished  her  impassioned  harangue  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  a  flashing  eye,  Disraeli,  who  had 
been  silently  watching  her  with  apparently 
the  profoundest  sympathy  and  admiration, 
suddenly  dropped  his  eyeglass  and  softly 
murmured,  "Oh,  you  darling!"  "If  it  had 
been    at    dinner,"    she    afterward    declared, 


270  Personages  and  Retrospects 

''and    I   had     had    a    knife,    I    would    have 
stabbed  him ! " 

It  is  curious  to  note  how  completely 
Disraeli  and  Gladstone  had  reversed  their 
original  positions  at  the  close  of  their  respect- 
ive political  careers.  In  1832,  when  Glad- 
stone passed  from  the  best  set  at  Christ  Church 
into  the  House  of  Commons  as  the  nominee 
of  a  Tory  duke,  Disraeli  was  little  better 
than  a  needy  literary  adventurer,  rubbing 
elbows  with  dingy  journalists  and  tawdry 
dandies,  and  apparently  as  remote  from  the 
charmed  circle  to  which  Gladstone  had 
gained  easy  admittance  as  he  was  from  the 
north  pole.  And  so  the  thing  continued 
for  over  forty  years,  Gladstone  always  the 
political  good  boy,  petted  and  irreproachable, 
and  Disraeli  the  scapegrace,  shunned  and 
suspected  even  when  accepted  on  sufferance. 
But  the  whirligig  of  time  brought  about  a 
strange  revolution.  From  1874  Gladstone 
began  steadily  to  decline  in  the  estimation 
of  the  classes  who  had  theretofore  set  him  on 


A  Political  Nestor  271 

high,  while  Disraeli,  the  former  pariah  and 
suspect,  gradually  acquired  over  them  an 
ascendency  and  influence  such  as  no  English 
minister  had  ever  before  enjoyed — surely 
a  superb  consolation  for  all  the  slights  and 
indignities  of  his  early  years. 

The  mention  of  Mr.  Gladstone's  first 
entrance  into  Parliament  reminds  me  of  a 
very  interesting  conversation  I  once  had 
with  a  political  Nestor  who. had  left  Eton 
before  Gladstone  went  there.  I  met  him 
in  the  spring  of  1886,  when  Gladstone's 
first  Home  Rule  bill  was  engrossing  the 
attention  of  the  country.  I  happened  to 
be  going  up  to  town  from  some  place  in 
Sussex,  and  on  the  train  stopping  at  Pul- 
borough  a  very  old  and  ill-dressed  individual, 
carrying  a  small,  shabby-looking  hand-bag, 
entered,  or  rather  attempted  to  enter,  the 
carriage.  Perceiving  that  he  had  much  diffi- 
culty in  making  the  ascent  from  the  plat- 
form, I  gave  him  a  helping  hand,  an  atten- 
tion which  he  very  courteously  acknowledged, 


272  Personages  and  Retrospects 

and  then  sank  down  exhausted  in  the  corner 
opposite.  A  rapid  survey  suggested  that 
he  was  either  a  broken-down  country  lawyer 
or  land  agent,  and  I  resumed  my  newspaper, 
with  a  mental  resolution  not  to  encourage 
conversation.  At  the  other  end  of  the  car- 
riage two  passengers  were  intently  discussing 
the  Home  Rule  bill,  a  parley  which  seemed 
somewhat  to  irritate  the  old  gentleman,  for 
he  quavered  out  to  me  in  a  weary  tone,  "  I'm 
rather  tired  of  this  question;  aren't  you,  sir  ? " 
On  my  giving  a  discouraging  answer,  draw- 
ing himself  up  and  heightening  his  voice,  he 
continued:  "Yes.  I  have  lived  in  rather 
different  times."  "Indeed,"  I  rejoined,  still 
indifferently.  "Yes,"  he  proceeded,  lean- 
ing forward  and  speaking  with  impressive 
deliberation;  "I  have  sat  in  the  House  of 
Commons  with  Mr.  Canning."  It  was  like 
a  voice  from  the  grave !  In  the  House  with 
Canning !  That  meant  a  leap  back  of  sixty 
years  at  least,  into  the  pre-reform  and 
pre-railroad  days !     Of    a    truth  this  was  a 


In  the  House  with  Canning         273 

fellow  traveler  to  be  cultivated,  and  for  the 
only  time  in  my  life  I  rejoiced  in  the  snail- 
like progress  of  an  L.,  B.  and  S.  C.  Railway 
train.  It  turned  out  that  my  companion 
was  a  certain  Welsh  baronet  whose  father 
had    represented    a    Welsh    county    in    the 

twenties.     Sir  H (as  I  will  call  him)  had 

barely  taken  his  degree  in  1826  when  his 
father  insisted  that  he  should  stand  for  the 
borough  of  his  county,  which  he  practically 

controlled.     Sir  H at  that  time  had  no 

wish  to  enter  Parliament,  but  his  father's 
will  was  law  and  he  was  duly  returned. 
Lord  Liverpool  was  then  prime  minister 
and  Mr.  Canning  foreign  secretary  and 
leader  of  the  House  of  Commons.  "Well," 
I  said,  "you  must,  of  course,  have  heard 
Canning  speak;  what  impression  did  he  make 

on  you ? "     "I  had  heard,"  replied  Sir  H , 

"  great  accounts  of  Canning's  eloquence, 
which  I  thought  was  probably  overrated, 
but  when  I  heard  him  I  altered  my  opinion. 
I  have  heard  all  the  most  famous  Parliamen- 


274  Personages  and  Retrospects 

tary  speakers  since,  but  none  ever  came  near 
him.  He  was  unique;  his  eloquence  was  like 
that  one  associates  with  the  old  Greek  and 
Roman  orators.* '  I  then  asked  him  who,  in 
his  opinion,  was  the  most  eloquent  House  of 
Commons  speaker  after  Canning.  "  I  shall 
probably,' '  he  answered,  "name  a  man  you 
have  never  even  heard  of — Daniel  Whittle 
Harvey,  who  entered  the  House  after  the 
Reform  bill  in  the  Liberal  interest.  He  was 
an  attorney  with  a  third-rate  practice  and 
not  too  much  character,  but  for  sheer  elo- 
quence I  never  heard  him  surpassed,  except, 
of  course,  by  Mr.  Canning,  and,  as  I  have 
told  you,  I  have  heard  all  the  greatest  speakers 
of  my  day.  Harvey,"  he  continued,  "did 
excellent  service  to  Lord  Melbourne's  rickety 
administration,  for  which  he  confidently 
expected  to  be  rewarded  with  a  fat  place; 
but  good  thing  after  good  thing  fell  to  the 
disposal  of  the  Government  and  he  was  per- 
sistently left  out  in  the  cold.  The  truth  is, 
his  character  was  so  shady  that  the  Govern- 


Daniel  Whittle  Harvey  275 

ment  dared  not  give  him  a  place.  At  last 
a  small  office,  an  assistant  commissionership 
of  police,  worth  only  a  few  hundreds  a  year, 
became  vacant,  and  even  that  was  not  offered 
to  Harvey.  This  was  the  last  straw:  foam- 
ing with  rage,  he  rushed  to  Downing  Street 
and  insisted  on  seeing  Lord  Melbourne. 
'My  lord,'  he  burst  out,  'I  have  come  to 
complain  of  the  atrociously  shabby  way  in 
which  I  have  been  treated  by  your  Govern- 
ment. Here  have  I,  night  after  night,  been 
speaking  in  your  support  when  all  your 
other  adherents  have  sat  dumb,  and  though 
I  don't  want  to  boast,  tided  you  over  many 
an  awkward  moment;  yet,  though  all  sorts 
of  good  places  have  fallen  vacant,  not  one 
has  been  offered  me.  And  finally,'  he  added 
with  a  climax  of  indignation,  'a  wretched 
little  commissionership  of  police,  hardly  worth 
£500  a  year,  becomes  vacant,  and  you  don't 
even  offer  me  that.  It  is  outrageous  ! '  *  My 
dear  Harvey,'  replied  Lord  Melbourne  with 
a  mollifying  smile,   'I   don't  say  that  you 


276  Personages  and  Retrospects 

haven't  cause  to  complain,  but  with  regard 
to  that  little  police  appointment  you  really 
do  me  an  injustice.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  to  offer  it  to  you,  but 
on  sounding  the  three  other  commissioners 
I  found  that  the  damned  fellows  refused 
point-blank  to  sit  with  you. '  Harvey 
troubled  Melbourne  very  little  after  that, 
as  you  may  suppose;  however,  he  got  some 
trifling  post  at  last,  I  believe,  though  not 
without  great  difficulty." 

Sir  H was   very   amusing  about  the 

Spartan  experiences  of  his  Eton  days.  "  We 
had  no  great-coats  then  and  no  umbrellas. 
I  have  ridden  up  from  Wales  to  London 
after  the  winter  holidays,  in  a  thin  jacket, 
through  the  bitterest  frost  and  snow,  but  it 
never  did  me  any  harm.  Things,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  are  made  far  too  easy  and  luxurious 
at  Eton  nowadays.  Why,  last  summer  I 
and  two  friends,  also  old  Etonians,  went 
down  one  afternoon  to  see  the  cricket,  and 
would  you  believe  it,  the  only  individuals 


Old- World  Etonians  277 

in  the  playing-fields  not  seated  on  rugs  were 
we  three  old  fellows  of  over  eighty ! " 

The  latter  part  of  the  journey,  though  not 
a  whit  less  interesting,  became  a  trifle  embar- 
rassing; the  two  political  chatterers  had 
departed,  and  were  replaced  by  a  couple  of 
old  spinster-like  ladies  equipped  with  serious 
literature  and  economical  creature  comforts. 
To  my  horror,  in  spite  of  their  presence,  the 
old  Baronet  embarked  on  the  recitation 
of  various  epigrams,  more  piquant  than 
respectable,  of  his  early  days.  At  first  he 
spoke  low,  but  warming  to  his  subjects  he 
gradually  raised  his  voice,  and  it  was  only 
by  the  train  reaching  Victoria  that  the  old 
ladies  were  spared  the  shock  of  a  couplet 
quite  as  flagrant  as  any  of  the  immortal 
Captain  Morris.  I  never  saw  my  old  fellow- 
traveler  again.  I  heard,  however,  that  when 
we  met  he  had  just  got  through  the  last  of 
three  fortunes  and  was  rusticating  in  some 
small  country  cottage  in  the  heart  of  Sussex, 
apparently   minding   his   adversity   as   little 


278         Personages  and  Retrospects 

as  he  did  the  arduousness  of  his  school  days. 
So  far  as  I  could  ascertain,  he  had  sat  in  the 
House  of  Commons  almost  continuously  from 
1826  till  1868,  losing  his  seat  in  the  general 
election  of  that  year,  after  which  he  finally 
relinquished  Parliamentary  life. 

Sir  H was  the  only  pre-reform-day  M.  P. 

I  had  an  opportunity  of  conversing  with, 
though  I  think  Lord  Henry  Bentinck,  who  was 
officiating  for  the  last  time  as  master  of  the 
Burton  hounds  on  my  first  day  out  hunting, 
must  have  certainly  sat  in  the  later  twenties. 
I  remember  him  well,  for  he  was  strikingly 
handsome  and  patrician-looking,  far  more  so 
than  his  more  famous  brother,  Lord  George, 
whom  he  also  excelled  intellectually,  having 
taken  a  first  if  not  a  double  first  class  at 
Oxford,  a  feat  of  which  Lord  George  was 
certainly  incapable.  Lord  Henry  was  a  con- 
summate whist-player,  which  naturally  made 
him  extremely  impatient  of  less  gifted  part- 
ners. On  one  occasion  he  was  invited  to 
Lord  Jersey's  at  Middleton  to  meet  some  of 


Lady  Jersey  279 

the  best  whist-players  in  the  county.  After 
the  first  game  Lord  Henry  turned  round  to 
his  hostess,  who  was  sitting  near,  and  said, 
"This  is  a  very  pretty  game,  Lady  Jersey; 
what  do  you  call  it?" 

This  Lady  Jersey  (the  Lady  St.  Julians  of 
Disraeli's  novel)  survived  till  1868  or  1869, 
having  occupied  for  some  years  the  large 
house  in  Berkeley  Square  which  has  since 
been  replaced  by  Lord  Rosebery's  not  too 
sightly  red-brick  mansion.  Her  recollec- 
tions must  have  been  supremely  interesting, 
for  she  was  married  the  year  before  Trafalgar, 
and  was  one  of  the  great  ladies  of  the  regency 
often  alluded  to  by  Lord  Byron.  I  knew  a 
neighbor  of  hers  who  lived  in  a  small  adjoin- 
ing house,  on  the  Mount  Street  side  of  Berke- 
ley Square,  and  was  much  given  to  musical 
parties.  At  one  of  these,  on  a  hot  summer's 
afternoon  which  necessitated  open  windows, 
the  strains  of  my  hostess's  classical  music 
were  suddenly  intruded  upon  by  those  of  a 
hurdy-gurdy  stationed  under  Lady  Jersey's 


280         Personages  and  Retrospects 

balcony.  After  enduring  it  for  some  time, 
my  hostess  sent  out  a  servant  to  direct  the 
organ-grinder  to  move  on,  but  he  refused  to 
stir,  alleging  that  he  had  been  hired  by  Lady 
Jersey  to  amuse  some  children  whom  she 
was  entertaining  at  tea.  After  another  ten 
minutes  of  interruption  and  torture,  my 
hostess  indited  a  polite  note  to  Lady  Jersey 
(whom  she  did  not  know),  requesting  that 
the  organ  might  be  sent  away,  as  she  had  a 
musical  party;  but  all  the  satisfaction  she 
obtained  was  a  message  from  Lady  Jersey, 
through  a  footman,  that  "  when  they  stopped 
their  fiddling  she  woud  stop  her  hurdy- 
gurdy";  the  result  being  another  hour's 
hideous  discord,  in  which  Chopin  strove 
unsuccessfully  to  extinguish  "  Champagne 
Charley." 

But  to  return  to  Lord  Henry~  Bentinck. 
He  was,  I  believe,  the  originator  of  the 
famous  resort  to  the  Radical  farmer  which 
has  been  attributed  to  various  other  election- 
eers.    Lord  Henry  was  canvassing  North  or 


Lord  Henry  Bentinck  281 

South  Nottinghamshire  in  the  Tory  interest, 
and  in  due  course  solicited  a  large  farmer, 
whose  politics  were  supposed  to  be  somewhat 
undecided,  for  his  vote  and  interest.  "  Vote 
for  you,  my  lard  ? "  replied  the  farmer,  who 
had,  unknown  to  the  candidate,  a  day  or 
two  before  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  Radicals; 
11 1  would  sooner  vote  for  the  davil ! "  "  But," 
replied  Lord  Henry  suavely,  "in  the  event 
of  your  friend  not  standing  ?'•'  This  anec- 
dote reminds  me  of  another  to  which  his 
satanic  majesty  also  contributed  the  salient 
point.  In  the  course  of  a  trial  of  an  action 
for  slander,  the  plaintiff  was  asked  by  the 
examining  counsel  what  the  defendant  had 
said  to  him  at  a  certain  juncture.  "He 
told  me  to  go  to  the  devil,"  replied  the 
witness.  "Oh,  he  told  you  to  go  to  the 
devil,  did  he?"  resumed  the  counsel;  "and 
what  did  you  do  then?"  "I  went  to  Mr. 
Tomkins,"  replied  the  witness,  naming  a 
leading   local   practitioner. 

Lord  Henry  Bentinck  and  hunting  remind 


282         Personages  and  Retrospects 

me  of  a  curious  sight  which  an  old  friend 
of  mine  once  witnessed  when  out,  I  think, 
with  the  Belvoir  hounds.  This  was  a  horse- 
man whose  seat  was  only  less  remarkable 
than  his  attire,  which  suggested  a  compro- 
mise between  the  costume  of  a  Fontainebleau 
sportsman  and  that  of  a  circus  equestrian. 
On  closer  inspection  the  eccentric  Nimrod 
proved  to  be  no  other  than  Mr.  Disraeli, 
who  apparently  had  joined  the  chase  out  of 
compliment  to  the  Tory  sportsmen  of  the 
district. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  in  this  eminently 
sporting  country  we  have  had  no  prime 
minister  since  Lord  Palmerston  who  regu- 
larly rode  to  hounds,  and  in  the  nineteenth 
century  none  before  him  except  the  Duke 
of  Wellington,  who,  however,  was  decidedly 
Palmerston's  inferior  across  country.  Prior 
to  the  Duke  of  Wellington  we  have  to  go 
back  as  far  as  the  "  Junius  "  Duke  of  Grafton 
for  a  hunting  prime  minister,  unless  Lord 
Rockingham,    who    came    very    little    later, 


Sporting  Premiers  283 

can  be  placed  in  that  category.  Palmerston, 
again,  was  the  only  prime  minister  of  the 
nineteenth  century  who  was  really  devoted 
to  shooting,  though  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
always  carried  a  gun  in  the  shooting  season 
as  punctiliously  as  he  followed  the  hounds. 
Mr.  Fox  was,  I  think,  the  last  minister  before 
Lord  Palmerston's  day  who  thoroughly 
enjoyed  shooting,  and  he,  of  course,  was  never 
actually  prime  minister,  though  the  leading 
spirit  of  the  Cabinet.  I  recently  saw  a  print 
of  Fox  in  shooting  costume — a  most  ex- 
traordinary figure,  with  a  chimney-pot  hat 
of  which  the  brim  on  one  side  drooped  like 
the  ear  of  a  tame  rabbit.  But  it  would  be 
dangerous  to  take  the  attire  of  Mr.  Fox  as 
representing  that  of  the  period,  for  except 
in  his  first  youth  he  was  always  a  slovenly 
dresser.  A  lady  of  my  acquaintance  told 
me  that  a  great-aunt  of  hers  had  been  pres- 
ent, as  a  girl,  at  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings, 
and  when  pressed  by  my  friend  to  give  her 
impression  of  the  scene,   after  considerable 


284  Personages  and  Retrospects 

hesitation  she  vouchsafed  that  all  she  could 
distinctly  remember  was  the  extremely 
shabby  pair  of  brown  cotton  gloves  worn  by 
Mr.  Fox,  the  fingers  of  which  were  far  too 
long  for  him.  This  is  my  only  link  with 
Mr.  Fox;  but  I  can  boast  one,  though  of  a 
different  kind,  with  Mr.  Pitt,  for  a  friend  of 
mine  at  whose  house  I  often  dine  possesses 
his  easy-chair,  or,  as  it  was  called  in  those 
days,  chaise  longue,  and  she  is  also  the  owner 
of  an  even  more  interesting  relic,  namely, 
the  sofa  that  belonged  to  the  great  Lord 
Chatham.  On  both  these  historic  _  articles 
of  furniture  I  have  ventured  to  repose,  though 
never  without  a  feeling  that  I  was  guilty  of 
sacrilege.  Their  pedigree  is  unimpeachable, 
for  they  were  bought  by  my  friend  at  the 
sale  of  the  late  Miss  Perceval's  effects  a  year 
or  two  ago.  This  Miss  Perceval  was  the  last 
surviving  child  of  Spencer  Perceval,  the  prime 
minister  who  was  assassinated  in  181 2.  On 
the  death  of  Mr.  Pitt  in  1806,  Lord  Henry 
Petty,  as  chancellor  of  the  exchequer,  went 


Relics  of  Chatham  and  Pitt         285 

into  residence  at  Downing  Street  and  took 
over  all  Mr.  Pitt's  belongings  there,  which  in- 
cluded the  sofa  and  chair  already  mentioned. 
In  1807,  on  the  Whig  ministry  going  out, 
and  of  course  Lord  Henry  Petty  with  them, 
Mr.  Perceval  became  chancellor  of  the 
exchequer  and  took  over  the  Downing 
Street  furniture,  which  still  included  the 
Pitt  belongings.  On  Perceval's  death  the 
sofa  and  chair  passed  to  his'  widow,  from 
whom  they  eventually  devolved  to  the 
daughter  who  recently  died.  Miss  Perceval, 
who  was  over  ninety  at  her  death,  could 
remember  seeing  George  III.  on  the  terrace 
at  Windsor.  I  was  not  acquainted  with 
her,  but  I  knew  her  niece,  another  Miss 
Perceval,  very  well,  and  she  informed  me 
not  long  ago  that  her  mother,  who  was  a 
Drummond,  had  sat  on  George  III.'s  knee 
on  some  occasion  when  the  King  rode  over 
from  old  George  Rose's  at  Lyndhurst  to 
Mr.  Drummond's  place,  Cadlands,  on  the 
Southampton   Water.     The   child,   who  was 


286  Personages  and  Retrospects 

then  little  more  than  a  baby,  instead  of 
appreciating  the  honor,  burst  into  a  violent 
fit  of  crying,  and  was  relegated  in  disgrace 
to  the  nursery.  The  good-natured  King 
insisted,  however,  on  her  having  another 
chance;  but  the  little  girl  was  obdurate, 
and  emphatically  declined  to  reenter  the 
drawing-room  till  "the  man  in  the  leather 
breeches  had  gone.  " 

I  have  another  association  with  Spencer 
Perceval  in  the  person  of  an  old  gentleman, 
a  relative  of  mine  by  marriage,  with  whom 
I  dined  in  1885  when  he  was  past  ninety. 
He  had  received  his  commission  in  the  army 
as  far  back  as  181 1,  and  was  spending  his 
leave  at  Ealing  in  the  following  year,  when 
the  news  reached  the  village  where  Perceval 
had  a  country  house  that  the  Prime  Minister 
had  been  assassinated.  My  old  friend  told 
me  that  when  he  joined  the  army  in  181 1 
pigtails  were  still  worn,  though  they  were 
shortly  afterward  discontinued.  His  first 
station  was  in  one  of  the  Channel  Islands — 


A  Responsible  Post  287 

I  think  Alderney — and  his  orders  were  to 
keep  a  lookout  for  the  French,  with  whom 
we  were  then,  of  course,  actively  at  war,  and 
in  case  of  danger  to  give  the  alarm  by  order- 
ing the  island  beacons  to  be  lighted.  After  the 
boy — for  he  was  only  sixteen — had  been  there 
a  few  days,  the  sergeant  of  the  depot,  a  man 
who  had  been  on  duty  in  the  island  for  a 
considerable  time,  rushed  in  with  the  news 
that  the  "  French  were  on  '  them ! "  The 
young  ensign  felt  very  uncomfortable,  as  he 
knew  that  if  he  gave  a  false  alarm  the  conse- 
quences to  him  might  be  very  unpleasant, 
if  not  serious.  The  Sergeant,  however,  was 
confident  that  the  intelligence  he  had  given 
was  correct,  and  consequently,  with  no  little 
trepidation,  the  Ensign  ordered  the  lighting 
of  the  beacons.  But  his  misgivings  were 
only  too  well  founded;  the  alarm  proved  to 
be  a  false  one,  and  he  was  very  severely  repri- 
manded. He  told  me  that  the  most  miser- 
able moment  in  his  life  was  when  he  missed 
the  chance  of  being  present  at  the  battle  of 


288  Personages  and  Retrospects 

Waterloo.  A  detachment  of  his  regiment, 
then  at  Colchester,  was  ordered  to  join  the 
Duke  of  Wellington's  army,  with,  of  course, 
only  a  proportionate  number  of  subalterns, 
and  so  keen  were  they  all  to  go  that  after 
mess  they  began  to  quarrel  as  to  who  should 
have  the  preference.  "The  Colonel,  how- 
ever," said  my  old  friend,  "came  up,  and 
patting  us  paternally  on  the  head,  settled 
the  matter  by  saying,  'Come,  my  lads, 
there's  no  need  to  quarrel  about  it  ;  you  can't 
all  go,  and  the  only  way  to  settle  it  is  to 
draw  lots/  which  we  did,  and  I,  to  my  eternal 
chagrin,  was  one  of  those  who  drew  a  blank  ! " 
He  well  remembered  an  inspection  of  the 
regiment  by  the  Duke  of  York,  who  good- 
naturedly  promised  to  make  a  captain  of 
him;  "but,"  continued  the  old  Major  (for 
that  was  the  highest  grade  he  ever  attained), 
"like  many  royal  promises  of  that  day,  it 
was  never  fulfilled." 

Although  my  old  friend  had  not  been  at 
Waterloo,   I  knew  one  artillery  officer  who 


Lady  Louisa  Tighe  289 

had  been  present;  and  as  a  child  I  sat  in  the 
adjoining  pew  at  church  to  an  old  general, 
Sir  Henry  Murray,  who  had  led  the  Eighteenth 
Light  Dragoons  in  the  cavalry  charge  at  the 
battle.  I  was  asked,  too,  some  quarter  of 
a  century  ago,  though  I  was  unable  to  accept 
the  invitation,  to  meet  Lord  William  Lennox, 
who  had  been  on  the  Duke's  staff,  but  by 
way  of  compensation  I  have  sat  at  lunch 
opposite  Lady  Louisa  Tighe,  who  was 
actually  present  at  the  famous  ball,  and 
fastened  on  the  Duke's  sword  before  he  left 
for  the  field.  A  very  curious  incident  is 
connected  with  Lady  Louisa  and  that  par- 
ticular luncheon.  She  was  accompanied  by 
her  husband,  Colonel  Tighe,  of  Woodstock, 
Kilkenny,  a  distinguished-looking  old  gen- 
tleman, who,  I  particularly  noticed,  was 
wearing  a  rather  bohemian-looking  velvet 
coat  and  a  peculiar  light-blue  bird's-eye 
neckcloth,  every  one  else  being  in  strict 
London  costume.  I  never  saw  either  Lady 
Louisa   or   Colonel   Tighe   again,    but   many 


290  Personages  and  Retrospects 

years  afterward  I  was  asked  to  meet  a  lady 
who  was  said  to  have  had  various  psychical 
experiences  concerning  which  I  was  anxious 
to  hear.  After  a  tantalizing  account  of  a 
haunted  room  in  which  she  heard  but  refused 
to  look  upon  the  notorious  Jack  Wilkes,  she 
proceeded  to  tell  me  her  latest  experience, 
which  she  said  had  occurred  during  a  visit 
to  some  friend  (a  lady)  in  Ireland,  by  whom 
she  was  taken  to  call  at  a  neighboring  "  great 
house"  which  belonged  to  a  widow  lady, 
whose  name  she  did  not  give.  On  entering 
the  house  they  were  conducted  by  the  servant 
through  a  suite  of  rooms  on  the  ground  floor, 
in  the  first  of  which  my  informant  observed 
an  old  gentleman  reading  a  newspaper.  He 
took  no  notice  of  them,  and  they  passed  on 
to  a  drawing-room  at  the  other  end,  where 
they  paid  their  call  on  the  old  lady,  and  in 
due  course  took  their  departure.  As  they 
passed  through  the  first  room  again,  my 
informant  looked  for  the  old  gentleman, 
but  he  was  gone.     When  they  reached  the 


An  Apparition  291 

drive  my  informant  asked  her  friend  who 
the  old  gentleman  was  who  had  been  reading 
in  the  first  room  as  they  entered.  "What 
old  gentleman?"  said  her  friend;  "I  saw 
none."  "Oh,  but  there  was  certainly  an 
old  gentleman  there,"  rejoined  my  informant; 
"  I  distinctly  saw  him  reading  a  newspaper." 
"What  was  he  like?"  inquired  her  friend, 
thoroughly  mystified.  "Well,"  said  my  in- 
formant, "he  was  dressed  rather  peculiarly, 
for  he  was  wearing  a  black  velveteen  coat 
and  a  very  bright  blue  neckcloth  with  white 
spots "  "Was  that,"  I  suddenly  inter- 
rupted, "by  any  chance  a  Colonel  Tighe?" 
"What  made  you  ask?"  said  my  informant. 
I  then  explained  how  I  had  once,  very  many 
years  ago,  seen  Colonel  Tighe  in  that  very 
attire.  "Well,"  said  my  informant,  "it  was 
not  Colonel  Tighe,  for  he  had  died  the  year 
before,  but  it  was  his  apparition;  for  my 
friend,  on  hearing  my  description,  imme- 
diately recognized  it  as  the  Colonel,  who 
before  his  death  had  promised  Lady  Louisa 


292  Personages  and  Retrospects 

that,  if  possible,  he  would  revisit  her!" 
Lady  Louisa  died,  a  centenarian,  only  a 
couple  of  years  ago. 

Another  interesting  military  veteran  of 
my  acquaintance  was  an  old  ex-Grenadier 
Guardsman  of  the  rank  and  file,  who  long 
before  I  knew  him  had  found  his  way  back 
to  his  old  hamlet  and  exchanged  his  uniform 
for  the  now,  alas !  rapidly  disappearing 
smock-frock.  He  was  a  strikingly  hand- 
some and  intelligent  old  fellow,  who  had 
begun  life  as  a  "  parish  boy,"  in  which 
capacity  he  was  "bid  for"  by  the  neighbor- 
ing farmers  as  a  so-called  "  'prentice,"  but 
virtually  as  a  servitor,  a  position  which  he 
relinquished,  as  soon  as  his  time  expired,  in 
order  to  join  the  colors.  He  told  me  that 
he  had  formed  one  of  the  guard  of  honor  on 
the  accession  of  William  IV.,  who  was  appar- 
ently never  tired  of  inspecting  the  Guards 
when  stationed  at  Windsor,  greatly  to  the 
discomfiture  of  the  commanding  officers. 
One  incident  which  he  related  supplied  an 


William  the  Fourth  293 

emphatic  corroboration  of  the  character  which 
William  IV.  gained  from  Charles  Greville 
and  others  for  undignified  buffoonery.  It 
appears  that  the  King  had  insisted  on  join- 
ing the  Duke  of  Wellington  on  some  occasion 
when  the  latter  was  making  an  official  inspec- 
tion, an  honor  which  the  Duke  was  evidently 
far  from  appreciating.  One  or  two  places 
from  my  old  friend  was  a  private  with  a  nose 
very  much  resembling  the  Duke's  in  shape, 
which  so  tickled  his  Majesty  that,  falling 
behind  the  Duke,  he  proceeded  with  a  wink 
to  stroke  his  own  nose  and  to  point  first  at 
the  private's  and  then  at  the  Duke's,  all  the 
while  smothering  a  guffaw.  Not  content 
with  this  undignified  exhibition,  after  asking 
the  name  of  the  adjoining  private,  and  learn- 
ing that  it  was  William  King,  he  exclaimed 
with  a  chuckle:  "Ah,  then  there's  not  much 
difference  between  us,  eh,  my  man?  You're 
William  King  and  I'm  King  William!  Ha! 
ha !  ha  ! "  No  wonder  that  the  Duke  looked 
"mighty  sour,"  as  the  old  fellow  expressed  it. 


294  Personages  and  Retrospects 

Like  many  others,  especially  Harrovians, 
I  have  always  been  deeply  interested  in 
everything  connected  with  Lord  Byron.  My 
first  association  with  him  dates  from  my 
childhood,  when  one  day,  as  I  was  walking 
with  my  father  along  Bond  Street,  at  the 
Grafton  Street  crossing  a  slight-looking, 
rather  decrepit  old  gentleman  slowly  passed 
us  in  the  direction  of  Piccadilly.  "  Did  you 
see  that  old  gentleman?"  asked  my  father. 
"  That  was  Lord  Broughton,  the  great  friend 
of  Lord  Byron.' '  There  was  very  little  of 
the  democratic  Hobhouse  about  him  in 
those  days.  As  is  usually  the  case  with 
youthful  apostles  of  liberty,  office  had  cured 
him,  and  committing  to  oblivion  his  early 
political  escapades  and  their  climax  in  New- 
gate, he  had  maneuvered  his  way  into  the 
Painted  Chamber  under  the  imposing  title 
of  Lord  Broughton  de  GyfTord.  How  Byron 
would  have  laughed  and  sneered  at  his  old 
crony's  volte-face! 

My  next  link  with    Lord   Byron  was   at 


Lord  Byron  295 

Harrow,  where  in  the  early  sixties  there 
still  survived  a  funny  little  old  vender  of 
cheap  stationery,  named  Polly  Arnold,  who 
as  a  girl  remembered  Byron  in  his  Harrow 
days,  though  she  could  give  no  distinct  impres- 
sion of  him.  A  little  later  on  I  met  an  old 
gentleman  who  had  been  at  Harrow  with 
him,  and  who  remembered  meeting  him 
some  years  afterward  at  Brighton,  when 
Byron,  then  on  the  verge  of  his  'matrimonial 
troubles,  congratulated  him  in  somewhat 
equivocal  terms  on  his  recent  marriage. 
:  s  So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  gather, 
Byron  at  Harrow  was  very  much  what  he 
was  in  after-life — a  creature  of  moods  and 
whims  and  impulses,  one  day  overbearing 
and  tyrannical,  the  next  almost  quixotically 
good-natured  and  chivalrous.  The  actual 
cause  of  his  separation  from  Lady  Byron  is 
still  a  secret,  but  I  suspect  that  the  revela- 
tion, if  it  is  ever  made,  will  be  of  a  com- 
paratively humdrum  character.  Considering 
the   essentially   matter-of-fact   temperament 


296         Personages  and  Retrospects 

of  Lady  Byron,  and  the  fact  that  Byron 
was  unquestionably  "un  fanfaron  des  vices 
qu'il  riavait  pas" — one  who  in  certain  moods 
would,  out  of  mere  bravado  and  a  saturnine 
delight  in  shocking  commonplace  decorum, 
boast  of  achievements  and  practices  of  which 
he  was  really  quite  guiltless — the  cause,  after 
all,  is  not  very  far  to  seek.  His  highly 
seasoned  fabrications  were  probably  accepted 
by  the  serious,  unimaginative  Lady  Byron 
as  literal  confessions  of  fact,  and  when 
reported  by  her  to  the  no  less  serious  and 
unimaginative  Doctor  Lushington,  were,  no 
doubt,  treated  by  him  in  the  same  spirit,  the 
result  being  the  solemn  legal  opinion  that 
Byron  was  a  monster  of  iniquity,  with  a 
touch  of  madness  thrown  in,  from  whom  she 
must  at  once  irrevocably  decide  to  separate. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Byron  was  no  worse, 
and  in  many  instances  a  good  deal  better, 
than  several  of  the  noblemen  of  that  day; 
but  his  genius,  his  eccentricity,  his  emotional, 
paradoxical     temperament,     all     tended     to 


Byron's  Death  297 

place  him,  so  to  speak,  under  the  public 
magnifying  glass — an  ordeal  to  which  dis- 
creeter  and  more  commonplace  offenders 
were  never  subjected. 

I  have  lately  heard  from  one  who  knew  a 
good  deal  "  behind  the  scenes  "  in  connection 
with  Lord  Byron,  that  at  the  time  of  his 
death  certain  of  his  intimate  friends  strongly 
suspected  that  he  had  expedited  his  end. 
Certainly  I  know,  from  a  statement  of  his 
own  in  an  unpublished  letter,  that  a  year  or 
two  before  he  had  not  only  contemplated 
but  actually  made  his  preparations  for  suicide, 
and  the  disappointing  turn  which  events 
in  Greece  were  rapidly  taking  lend  some 
color  to  the  suspicion  above  alluded  to.  He 
had  staked  all  on  this  final  throw  of  the 
Greek  campaign,  and  the  likelihood  of  its 
proving  a  fiasco  would  be  quite  strong  enough 
an  inducement  for  him  to  precipitate  "the 
shuffling  off  of  a  mortal  coil "  which  had,  on 
the  whole,  brought  him  little  more  than 
vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. 


298  Personages  and  Retrospects 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Lord  Byron, 
I  cannot  refrain  from  saying  a  word  relative 
to  the  famous  (and  infamous)  charge  made 
against  him  by  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe,  which, 
like  all  such  charges,  however  ill-founded, 
has  been  in  many  quarters  only  too  implic- 
itly credited.  If  Lady  Byron,  as  stated  by 
Mrs.  Stowe,  separated  from  Byron  on  account 
of  his  relations  with  Mrs.  Leigh,  how  was 
it  that  for  nearly  fifteen  years  after  the  separa- 
tion Lady  Byron  remained  on  the  most 
affectionate  terms  with  that  lady?  The 
objection  is  insuperable,  and  absolutely  fatal 
to  Mrs.  Stowed  case.  There  were,  doubtless, 
serious  rumors  afloat  concerning  Byron  and 
Mrs.  Leigh — indeed,  I  am  aware  that  they 
were  credited  by  certain  well-known  person- 
ages of  that  day;  but  it  is  probable  that  they 
originated  from  the  fact  of  Byron  having 
written  "Manfred,"  though  if  he  had  been 
guilty  of  the  conduct  alleged  against  him 
it  is  extremely  unlikely  that  he  would  have 
allowed    the    publication    of    the    poem.     If 


Mrs.  Stowe's  Allegations  299 

Lady  Byron  did  confide  this  highly  improb- 
able story  to  Mrs.  Stowe,  it  could  not,  for 
the  reason  already  stated,  have  been  con- 
nected in  any  way  with  the  separation,  and 
was  probably  merely  related  by  Lady  Byron 
as  having  come  to  her  ears  long  afterward, 
though  Mrs.  Stowe,  with  characteristic  reck- 
lessness, subsequently  placed  it  in  a  wholly 
different  aspect.  If  Lord  Byron  sinned  much, 
he  assuredly  suffered  in  proportion,  and  it  is 
monstrous  that  his  memory  should  be  black- 
ened with  a  charge  wholly  unsupported  by 
anything  worthy  the  name  of  evidence, 
which  in  a  court  of  law  would  have  earned 
for  the  accuser  the  most  unsparing  condem- 
nation. 

From  Byron  to  Shelley  is  a  natural  transi- 
tion, though  my  " links"  with  Shelley  are 
comparatively  few.  I  had,  however,  the 
good  fortune  to  be  slightly  acquainted  with 
the  late  Sir  Percy  Shelley,  his  only  son,  to 
whose  house  on  the  Chelsea  Embankment  I 
remember  paying  what,  for  me,  was  a  mem- 


300  Personages  and  Retrospects 

orable  visit.  I  was  accompanying  my  mother, 
whose  call  was  really  on  Lady  Shelley,  a 
gifted  woman,  greatly  wrapped  up  in  all  that 
appertained  to  her  illustrious  father-in-law, 
and  I  had  not  expected  to  see  Sir  Percy, 
who  was  not  in  the  room  when  I  arrived. 
As  we  were  talking  with  Lady  Shelley  about 
the  new  Life  of  the  poet  on  which  Mr.  Dowden 
was  then  engaged,  the  door  opened,  and 
there  entered  a  little  red-faced  man  with 
"ferrety"  eyes  and  altogether  a  rather 
insignificant  appearance.  He  was  poising 
in  his  hand  a  small  parcel,  which  he  extended 
toward  Lady  Shelley,  exclaiming  rather  irri- 
tably, "You  told  me  this  was  twopence, 
but  I  find  it's  overweight."  Lady  Shelley, 
however,  diverted  him  from  his  postal  griev- 
ance by  introducing  us,  a  ceremony  which  he 
seemed  far  from  disposed  to  follow  up  by 
conversation.  However,  by  way  of  break- 
ing the  ice,  I  fortunately  bethought  myself 
that  I  had  only  a  week  or  two  before  driven 
past    "Field   Place,"   near   Horsham,    where 


Sir  Percy  Shelley  301 

his  father,  the  poet,  was  born.  I  accord- 
ingly mentioned  the  fact,  expressing  my  deep 
interest  in  seeing  it.  "Ah,  yes,"  responded 
Sir  Percy,  still  resentfully  poising  the  offend- 
ing parcel,  "  it's  not  a  bad  place,  but  the  worst 
of  it  is  I  can't  let  it!"  This  was  a  douche 
with  a  vengeance  from  the  poet's  own  off- 
spring, and  I  immediately  concluded,  and  I 
think  rightly,  that  Sir  Percy  had  harked 
back  to  Sir  Timothy  with  possibly  just  a 
soupcon  of  old  Sir  Bysshe  and  come  into  the 
world  minus  a  grain  of  intellectual  affinity 
with  his  marvelous  father,  and,  for  that 
matter,  with  his  only  less  marvelous  mother. 
Shortly  after  this  episode  we  made  a  pilgrim- 
age to  the  Shelley  room  to  see  the  relics,  Sir 
Percy  following  slightly  in  the  rear,  but 
punctiliously  and  almost  reverentially  join- 
ing in  the  inspection.  Lady  Shelley  afterward 
explained  that  Sir  Percy  never  failed  to 
accompany  visitors  in  their  inspection  of  the 
relics,  though  he  had,  of  course,  seen  them 
hundreds   of  times,    and   that   his   affection 


302  Personages  and  Retrospects 

and  veneration  for  his  mother  were  such 
that  he  seldom  spoke  of  her  without  tears 
in  his  eyes.  He  had  therefore,  at  any  rate, 
the  deepest  affinity  of  all — that  of  the  heart. 
Subsequently  I  went  more  than  once  to  Sir 
Percy's  charming  theater  in  Tite  Street,  for 
which  he  always  painted  the  scenery,  and 
with  fair  success,  though  his  acting  was  not 
above  that  of  the  average  amateur.  His 
ownership  of  this  theater,  and  indeed  his 
occupation  of  Shelley  House,  were  abruptly 
terminated  owing  to  an  untoward  incident 
for  which  the  spitefulness  of  the  late  Mr. 
Slingsby  Bethell  was  responsible. 

Slingsby  Bethell,  who  was  a  neighbor  and 
acquaintance  of  the  Shelley s,  had  been 
invited  to  take  part  in  various  representa- 
tions which  Sir  Percy  had  organized  in  his 
theater  from  time  to  time,  but  when 
arranging  for  an  important  charity  perform- 
ance at  which  the  Prince  and  Princess  of 
Wales  were  to  be  present,  for  some  reason 
or  other   he  was    not    asked  to  join.     This 


Shelley  House  Theatricals  303 

incensed  him  so  bitterly  that,  finding  out 
that  by  some  oversight  Sir  Percy  had  not 
taken  out  a  license  for  the  performance, 
in  respect  of  which  admission  money  was 
to  be  payable,  he  with  incredible  mean- 
ness gave  information  of  the  omission 
to  the  authorities,  who  issued  summonses 
at  the  Westminster  Police  Court  against  Sir 
Percy  Shelley  as  proprietor,  Mr.  Hamilton 
Aide  as  author  of  the  play  to  be  performed, 
and  Mr.  Horace  Wigan  as  stage  manager. 
It  had  been  Bethell's  intention  to  stop  the 
performance  altogether,  but  having  regard 
to  the  fact  that  it  was  in  aid  of  a  charity  and 
that  the  Prince  and  Princess  were  to  attend, 
the  magistrate  consented  to  postpone  the 
hearing  of  the  summonses  till  after  the  per- 
formance. Bethell  was  thus  for  the  moment 
frustrated;  but  his  malignity  was  eventually 
gratified,  for  on  the  hearing  of  the  summonses 
all  three  defendants  were  convicted  and  fined, 
an  event  which,  together  with  the  attendant 
circumstances,   so  disgusted  Sir  Percy  that 


304         Personages  and  Retrospects 

shortly  afterward  he  gave  up  his  residence 
and  with  it  the  theater. 

Only  inferior  in  interest  to  the  Byron 
letters  are  the  recently  published  editions 
of  Charles  Lamb's  works  and  correspond- 
ence, which,  however,  exhaustive  as  they 
are,  do  not  contain  one  delicious  saying  of 
Lamb's  that  is,  I  believe,  very  little  known. 
Among  the  lesser  luminaries  of  the  northern 
circuit  when  Pollock  and  Brougham  were 
the  bright  particular  stars  was  Samuel 
Warren,  afterward  famous  as  the  author  of 
"Ten  Thousand  a  Year,"  in  which,  by  the 
way,  he  gives  a  " dry-point"  portrait  of 
Brougham,  under  the  name,  I  think,  of 
Counselor  Quicksilver.  One  of  Warren's 
friends  on  circuit  was  a  barrister  who  after- 
ward took  orders  and  became  the  most 
popular  preacher  at  a  Midland  watering-place. 
Though  no  longer  connected  with  the  bar, 
this  gentleman  still  maintained  his  friendship 
with  Warren,  who  used  occasionally  to  visit 
him  and  dilate  with  pardonable  pride  on  the 


A  Reminiscence  of  Charles  Lamb    305 

grandees  to  whose  tables  his  fame  as  an 
author  had  gained  him  admission  and  on  the 
celebrities  he  used  to  meet  there.  On  one 
of  these  occasions  his  host  asked  Warren 
whether  he  had  ever  chanced  to  come  across 
Charles  Lamb,  to  which  Warren  replied  that 
he  had  once  met  him  at  breakfast  at  Lord 
Lyndhurst's.  "Did  he  say  anything  good?" 
inquired  the  host.  "Not  that  I  remem- 
ber," answered  Warren.  "Very  odd,"  re- 
joined the  host.  "Surely  he  must  have 
said  something  worth  recalling?"  "Well,,, 
responded  Warren  after  a  pause,  "now  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  he  did  say  something, 
though  I  don't  know  that  it's  worth  repeat- 
ing." "Never  mind,"  was  the  answer,  "let 
us  hear  what  it  was."  "Well,"  resumed 
Warren,  "  I  had  been  telling  some  story  in 
French;  it  was  really  a  good  story,  but 
somehow  it  didn't  come  off,  probably  because 
the  French  wasn't  quite  up  to  the  mark;  so 
when  nobody  laughed,  by  way  of  getting 
over  the  failure,  turning  to  Lamb,  who  was 


306  Personages  and  Retrospects 

sitting  next  me,  I  added  carelessly,  'Not 
that  I  know  much  French — for  a  gentle- 
man!'" "Ah,"  expectantly  exclaimed  the 
host,  prepared  for  a  treat,  "and  what  hap- 
pened then?"  "Well/'  answered  Warren, 
"there's  very  little  in  it,  but  when  I  said 
that  I  didn't  know  much  French  for  a  gentle- 
man, Lamb,  who  hadn't  uttered  a  word  the 
whole  of  breakfast,  suddenly  stuttered  out, 
1  N-nor  I  f-for  a  b-b-black-g-guard  ! ' " 

My  closing  remarks  shall  be  devoted  to 
what  may  be  described  as  the  transfigura- 
tion of  London  during  the  last  half-century. 
London,  as  I  first  remember  it,  was  as  inferior 
in  many  ways  to  its  modern  representative 
as  the  latter  still  is  to  Paris  and  Vienna.  It 
was  probably  at  that  time  the  dullest  and 
dingiest  metropolis  in  the  world,  though  even 
now  in  the  matter  of  lighting  it  is  far  behind 
some  of  our  great  provincial  towns.  My 
earliest  acquaintance  with  its  street  life 
dates  from  an  eventful  day  when  I  was  taken 
by  my  nurse  to  see  the  Duke  of  Wellington 


The  Transfiguration  of  London       307 

lying  in  state,  of  which  spectacle  I  can  only 
remember,  and  that  dimly,  the  great  black 
velvet  pall  and  the  colossal  tapers.  But 
shortly  afterward  my  eldest  sister  and  I  were 
taken  for  an  almost  daily  walk  in  the  prin- 
cipal West  End  thoroughfares,  the  character- 
istics of  which  I  can  well  recollect.  The  first 
thing  that  struck  and  not  unnaturally  terrified 
me  was  the  utter  chaos  of  the  crossings. 
There  were  no  regularly  told-ofF  policemen 
to  regulate  the  traffic  and  protect  the  timid 
and  inexperienced  pedestrian  in  those  days, 
and  the  process  of  reaching  the  opposite  side 
of  Regent  Street  was  unpleasantly  like  a  panic- 
stricken  stampede.  If  a  policeman  did  inter- 
vene it  was  only  by  accident,  and  "merely 
to  oblige,"  the  force  being  then  at  the  height 
of  its  renown  for  that  "  conspicuity  of 
absence"  with  which  it  has  always  been  more 
or  less  identified,  though  of  late  years  with 
much  less  foundation.  The  policeman  of 
that  day  was  in  appearance  a  fearful  and 
wonderful     being.     His     head-gear     was     a 


308  Personages  and  Retrospects 

"  chimney-pot "  hat  of  sham  beaver,  deco- 
rated with  strips  of  very  shiny  leather;  while 
instead  of  a  tunic  he  wore  a  swallow-tail 
garment  cut  like  a  dress-coat,  set  off  in  the 
summer  by  white  duck  "  continuations.' ' 
Facially,  he  was  either  clean-shaven  or 
decorated  with  mutton-chop  whiskers,  and 
his  aspect  when  mounted,  and  at  exercise, 
flashing  a  sword,  was  singularly  comic  and 
incongruous. 

The  " growlers"  were  also  of  a  decidedly 
archaic  type,  externally  minus  springs  and 
internally  liberally  strewn  with  dirty  and 
trampled  straw,  which  emitted  a  faint,  sickly 
odor  that  had  often  a  peculiarly  nauseating 
effect.  On  all  the  panels  were  emblazoned, 
in  the  boldest  style  and  the  crudest  color- 
ing, the  royal  arms;  while  the  "jarvies" 
themselves  were  for  the  most  part  bottle- 
nosed  ruffians,  who  regarded  any  remunera- 
tion short  of  a  double  fare  as  an  insult,  and 
became  positively  murderous  in  looks  as  well 
as   in  language   if   tendered   the  then   legal 


The  Old-Fashioned  Police  309 

minimum  of  sixpence.  The  omnibuses  were 
also  of  a  very  inferior  description,  carpeted, 
like  the  "  growlers,' '  with  malodorous  straw, 
and  fitted  with  greasy  cushions  that  boasted 
their  own  particular  "  bouquet. ' '  There  were, 
I  think,  very  few  omnibus  fares  under  six- 
pence, and  the  vehicles  were,  as  a  rule, 
wretchedly  underhorsed. 

As  regards  the  streets,  many  were  even 
then  laid  with  paving-stones,  and  'the  jolting 
and  clatter  of  the  vehicular  traffic  were 
appalling.  I  don't  suppose  that  in  those 
days  there  was  a  single  india-rubber  tire  in 
London,  and  of  course  neither  asphalt  nor 
wood  pavement,  so  that  the  din  was  far 
more  distracting  than  at  present,  even  allow- 
ing   for    the    enormous    increase    of    traffic. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  change  that  has 
taken  place  in  London  since  those  days,  or 
indeed  a  much  later  period,  is  in  the  matter 
of  hotels  and  restaurants.  Down  to  the 
early  sixties  there  was  no  really  large  hotel 
in  the  whole  of  the  West  End  of  London, 


310  Personages  and  Retrospects 

the  Clarendon,  in  Bond  Street,  which  has 
now  disappeared,  and  Thomas's,  in  Berkeley- 
Square,  being  about  the  most  capacious, 
though  Claridge's,  in  Brook  Street,  was  then, 
as  now,  perhaps  the  most  select,  being 
nearly  always  chosen  as  the  resting-place 
of  foreign  royalties.  As  regards  West  End 
restaurants,  I  think  Verrey's,  in  Regent 
Street,  was  then  the  only  one  of  the  first 
class,  and  that  was  seldom  frequented  except 
by  foreigners,  unless  it  might  be  for  luncheon 
by  ladies  up  for  the  day  from  the  country 
or  the  distant  suburbs.  Luncheon,  dinner 
and  supper  parties  at  a  restaurant  were  then 
unheard-of  entertainments  among  the  upper 
and  upper-middle  classes,  who  would  have 
regarded  anything  of  the  kind  as  shockingly 
bohemian,  if  not  something  worse. 

The  theaters,  again,  even  over  the  whole 
London  area,  were  few  and  far  between — 
down  to  i860  Drury  Lane,  the  Lyceum, 
the  Olympic,  the  Haymarket,  the  St.  James's 
(when  open),  the  Adelphi,  the  Princess's,  and 


The  Growth  of  Hotels  311 

the  Strand,  eight  in  all,  being  the  only  ones 
of  any  vogue;  whereas  nowadays  the  number 
of  theaters  is  positively  bewildering.  The 
opera,  however,  was  a  far  more  splendid  affair 
than  at  present,  Her  Majesty's  attracting 
audiences  little  less  brilliant  than  Covent 
Garden;  but  of  course  that  was  the  epoch 
of  transcendently  fine  singers,  all  of  whom 
made  London  their  headquarters  for  the 
whole  of  the  season. 

The  park  has  vastly  improved  in  appear- 
ance since  the  early  sixties,  when,  I  think, 
there  was  not  a  single  flower  to  be  seen  the 
whole  year  round  between  the  Marble  Arch 
and  Hyde  Park  corner,  but  in  other  respects 
it  has  not  altered  for  the  better.  The  earlier 
morning  ride  may  be  more  sensible  in  the 
summer  months,  but  it  is  far  less  brilliant 
than  its  predecessor,  which  extended  from 
1 2  to  1 ;  while  the  discontinuance  of  the  even- 
ing ride  (5  to  7 130),  with  its  wonderful  medley 
of  prominent  statesmen,  prelates,  ambassa- 
dors and  dandies,  set  off  by  some  of  the  most 


312  Personages  and  Retrospects 

beautiful  women  that  have  ever  graced  the 
country,  is  little  short  of  a  calamity.  That, 
too,  was  still  the  day  of  full-dress  riding 
costume — tall  hats,  single-breasted  cut-away 
coats,  and,  mostly,  tight-fitting  dark-blue 
"strapped"  trousers,  finished  off  by  super- 
latively polished  black  boots;  while  any  lady 
equestrian  who  had  ventured  to  discard  the 
natty  little  tall  hat  for  a  " billycock,"  and 
the  perfectly  close-fitting  habit  for  a  "sack" 
covert  coat,  would  have  been  regarded  as  the 
acme  of  "bad  form." 

I  shall  doubtless  be  accounted  a  mere 
laudator  temporis  acti  when  I  venture 
the  opinion  that  in  London,  at  all  events, 
there  was  far  more  beauty  among  women 
and  far  more  distinction  of  appearance  (to 
say  nothing  of  good  looks)  among  men  than 
are  to  be  met  with  in  the  present  day.  Every 
woman  in  those  days,  so  far  from  being,  as 
now,  a  slavish  imitator,  seemed  to  have  a 
distinctive  charm  and  cachet  of  her  own ;  and, 
above   all,    it   had   happily   not   become   de 


Changes  in  Rotten  Row  313 

rigueur  to  torture  a  naturally  sweet  and 
gentle  voice  into  the  shrill  "tinny"  sort  of 
"clack"  which  nowadays  renders  the  Row 
only  a  degree  less  distracting  than  the  Zoo- 
logical Gardens  parrot-house.  The  lawns, 
now  crammed  on  Sundays  like  the  Epsom 
Downs  on  a  Derby  day,  were  then  entirely 
unfrequented,  the  fashionable  parade  on 
Sundays  till  the  early  severities  being  the 
Broad  Walk,  Kensington  Gardens,  from  four 
to  seven.  So  far  as  I  recollect,  the  park  was 
virtually  deserted  by  society  on  Sundays, 
who  repaired  to  the  Botanical  and  the  Zoo 
(by  ticket)  when  preferring  a  more  exclusive 
resort  than  the  Gardens. 

In  the  matter  of  society,  strictly  so  called, 
the  present  indiscriminate  jumble  of  patri- 
cians and  plutocrats  was  almost  unknown, 
at  all  events  before  the  later  seventies. 
The  haute  juiverie  were  still  in  a  sense 
beyond  the  pale,  and  the  bare  idea  of  one 
of  them  being  honored  with  an  English 
peerage  would  forty  years  ago  have  caused 


314  Personages  and  Retrospects 

little  short  of  a  revolution  among  the  vieille 
noblesse.  These  democratic  changes  may  be 
salutary,  but  they  have  certainly  not  added 
to  the  prestige  of  the  Painted  Chamber, 
which  bids  fair  before  very  long  to  become  a 
chamber  of  commerce,  and  that  not  of  the 
highest  order! 

These  desultory  pages  must  now  be  brought 
to  a  close.  It  is  perhaps  audacious  in  one 
whose  span  of  life  falls  short  of  sixty  years1 
to  place  his  recollections  and  experiences 
before  the  public,  but  it  is  not  always  old 
age  that  proves  the  most  interesting  recorder. 
In  the  course  of  little  more  than  half  a  century 
of  a  by  no  means  eventful  life  I  have  chanced 
to  come  into  contact  with  persons  and  events 
of  some  importance  and  interest,  and  I 
question  whether  many  of  the  same  age  can 
claim,  as  I  can,  to  have  known  a  man  who 
had  talked  to  a  survivor  of  the  Jacobite  cam- 
paign of  1745,  to  have  spoken  to  another 
who  had  witnessed  Nelson's  funeral,  to  have 


The  New  Aristocracy  315 

dined  opposite  a  third  who  had  been  in  the 
Copenhagen  expedition  of  1807,  and  to  have 
met  at  luncheon  a  lady  who  was  present  at 
the  famous  Brussels  ball  that  preceded  the 
Battle  of  Waterloo.  At  the  same  time,  I 
am  well  aware  that  for  the  small  and  privi- 
leged class  who,  so  to  speak,  were  born  and 
bred  behind  the  scenes,  jottings  of  this 
description  can  have  little  interest.  To  such, 
however,  they  are  not  addressed,  but  rather 
to  the  less  initiated  yet  intelligent  majority, 
who  may  possibly  derive  from  them,  if  not 
instruction,  at  least  some  trifling  entertain- 
ment. 


INDEX 


Abbot,  Mr.,  164 

Abercorn,  Duke  of,  32 

Aberdeen,  Earl  of,  8 

Advocate,  The  Lord  (Right  Honorable  A.  Graham  Murray), 

38.  47 
Afghanistan,  The  Ameer  of,  178 
Aid6,  Hamilton,  216,  303 
Amberley,  Viscount,  8,  9 
Archedeckne,  Mr.,  245 
Archer,  Lord,  190 
Arnold,  Matthew,  25,  26 
Arnold,  "Polly,"  295 

Bacon,  Vice-Chancellor,  80-82,  105 

Bath,  Marchioness  of,  168 

Bath,  Marquis  of,  168 

Beaconsfield,  Earl  of.      (See  Disraeli) 

Bentinck,  Lord  George,  278 

Bentinck,  Lord  Henry,  278,  279,  280,  281 

Bernhardt,  Madame  Sarah,  254 

Bethell,  Honorable  Richard,  95,  96 

Bethell,  Honorable  Slingsby,  92,  302,  303 

Bethell,  Sir  Richard.      (See  Westbury) 

Blackburn,  Lord,  56 

Blake,  William,  233,  234 

Blessington,  Countess  of,  267 

Blomfield,  Admiral,  125 

Blomfield,  Bishop,  123-126 

Bodleian  Librarian,  168 

Boehm,  Sir  Edgar,  R.  A.,  236,  237 

Bovill,  Chief  Justice,  57 

Bowen,  Lord,  86-90,  169 

Bradby,  Reverend  Doctor,  25,  26 

Bramwell,  Lord,  56,  74-78 

Brougham,  Lord,  10-14,  304 

Broughton,  Lord,  294 

Browning,  Robert,  233-235 

317 


3 1 8  INDEX— Continued 

Buckstone,  J.  B.,  74 

Buller,  Charles,  49 

Buller,  Charles  Francis,  48,  49-52 

Buller,  Sir  Arthur,  49,  50 

Burgoyne,  Field  Marshal  Sir  John  Fox,  56 

Burnand,  Sir  Frank,  250 

Bute,  Marquis  of,  21,  22 

Butler,  Reverend  Doctor  H.  M.,  15,  16,  19-21,  160 

Byles,  Mr.  Justice,  78,  79 

Byron,  H.  I.,  250 

Byron,  Lady,  295,  296,  298,  299 

Byron,  Lord,  6,  13,  210,  279,  294-299 

Cairns,  Lord,  116-119 

Caledon,  Earl  of,  37 

Campbell,  Lord,  63,  64,  112 

Campbell,  Professor,  164 

Canning,  Earl,  134 

Canning,  Right  Honorable  George,  272,  273,  274 

Canterbury,    Archbishops    of.      (See  Archbishops  Davidson, 

Longley,  and  Tait) 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  50,  237,  239 
Charlotte,  Queen,   191 
Chatham,  Earl  of,  284 
Chatham,  Lord,  192 
Chelmsford,  Lady,   114 
Churchill,  Lord  Randolph,  1 69-1 71 
Clarendon,  Fourth  Earl  of,  36 
Clarendon,  Fifth  Earl  of  (Lord  Hyde),  36 
Cobbett,  William,  123 
Cobden,  F.  C,  48 

Cockburn,  Lord  Chief  Justice,  82,  83 
Colenso,  Bishop,  9,  10 
Coleridge,  Lord,  82-86 
Conyngham,  Marchioness  of,  149-152 
Cotton,  Lord  Justice,  115 
Cowper,  William,  164 
Cresswell,  Sir  Cresswell,  44 
Cruikshank,  George,  200 

Davidson,  Archbishop,  21,  38-40 
De  Bathe,  Sir  Henry,  108-111 
D6scl£e,  Aim6e,  254,  255 
Dickens,  Charles,  102,  239,  240,  246 
Dick,  Mr.  Quentin,  98 
Disraeli,  Mrs.,  114 


INDEX — Continued  319 

Disraeli,  Right|Honorable  Benjamin,  31,  32,  43,  114,  218, 

223,  261-270,  279,  282 
Dowden,  Mr.,  300 
Drummond,  Mr.,  285 
Dufferin,  Lord,  178-180 
Du  Maurier,  George,  216 
Dymoke,  "Parson,"  136,  137 

Eldon,  Earl  of,  112 
Emery,  Miss  Winifred,  255 
Enfield,  Viscount,  31,  33 
Esher,  Viscount,  87,  88 

Farrar,  Dean,  15,  24-29 

Fox,  Right  Honorable  Charles  James,  57,  283 

Francis,  Sir  Philip,  186,  187 

George  the  Third,  King,  285,  286 

George  the  Fourth,  King,  148,  152 

Gladstone,  Right  Honorable  W.  E.,  4,  5,  7,  154,  270,  271 

Glasse,  Mr.,  Q.  C,  101-103 

Goderich,  Viscount,   14 

Gordon,  General,  154 

Goschen,  Mrs.,  168 

Goschen,     Right     Honorable    G.    I.     (afterward     Viscount 

Goschen),  169,  171 
Grafton,  Duke  of,  282 
Grant,  Sir  William,  ior 
Granville,  Earl,  94 
Greville,  Charles,  293 
Gurney,  Right  Honorable  Russell,  46 

Hall,  Sir  Charles  (Recorder  of  London),  38   44-46 

Hall,  Vice- Chancellor,  45  , 

Hamilton,  Lady  Anna,  188 

Hamilton,  Lord  George,  29-32 

Hamilton,  Sir  W.  A.  Baillie,  29 

Hannen,  Lord,  44 

Harcourt,  Sir  William,  176 

Hare,  John,  249 

Harvey,  Daniel  Whittle,  274-276 

Hastings,  Right  Honorable  Warren,  283 

Haweis,  Prebendary,  219,  220 

Hayward,  Abraham,  60 

Higgins,  Mr.  Napier,  Q.  C,  101,  102 

Hinds,  Bishop,  125 


320  INDEX — Continued 

Hobhouse,  J.  C.      (See  Broughton) 

Holmes,  "Tommy,"  251 

Holroyd,  Commissioner,  96,  97 

Hook,  Dean,  156,  157 

Howell,  Charles  Augustus,  197-207,  213,  226-231 

Huddleston,  Baron,  71 

Hughes,  Arthur,  205 

Hunt,  Holman,   225 

Huxley,  Right  Honorable  Thomas,  161 

Hyde,  Lord.      (See  Fifth  Earl  of  Clarendon) 

Jackson,  Bishop,  134-137 

James,  Edwin,  58-65 

Jerdan,  William,  162 

Jerrold,  Douglas,  256 

Jersey,  Countess  of,  279,  280 

Jessel,  Sir  George,  99-101 

Jeune,  Bishop,  43 

Jeune,  Sir  Francis  38,  43-45,  111 

Jones,  Sir  E.  Burne-,  197,  206,  213,  215,  216,  219,  222 

Jowett,  Professor,  132,  163-168,  171,  172,  173,  174,  235 

"Junius  Letters,"   186-193 

Kendal,  Mrs.,  256 

King,  "Squarson,"  135,  136 

Kruger,  President,  178 

Labouchere,  Henry,  31,  32 
Lamb,  Charles,  217,  218,  304-306 
Landor,  Walter  Savage,  163 
Landseer,  Sir  Edwin,  233 
Lang,  Andrew,  163 
Lansdowne,  Marquis  of,  193 
Lauderdale,  Earl  of,  217 
Lawrence,  Sir  Thomas,  61 
Leach,  Vice-Chancellor,  112 
Leaf,  Mr.  William,  215 
Leigh,  Honorable  Mrs.,  298 
Lennox,  Lord  William,  289 
Liddell,  Dean,  38 
Liverpool,  Earl  of,  273 
London,  Changes  in,  306-315 
Longley,  Archbishop,  41 
"Lords"  Cricket  Ground,  48-50 
Lushington,  Doctor,  296 
Lush,  Lord  Justice,  185 


INDEX — Continued  321 

Lyndhurst,  Lord,  112,  113 

Lyon,  John,  5 

Lytton,  Sir  E.  Bulwer,  209 

Magee,  Archbishop,  29 

Malins,  Vice- Chancellor,  101-105 

Mallock,  W.  H.,  163 

Mansfield,  Earl  of,  47 

Marjoribanks,  Edward.      (See  Tweedmouth) 

Maurice,  Reverend  F.  D.,  164 

M'Carthy,  Justin,  240,  241 

Mecklenburgh,  Princess  of,  191 

Melbourne,  Viscount,  14,  275,  276 

Mellish,  Lord  Justice,  115 

Merivale,  Dean,  154 

Milner,  Viscount,  166,  169,  171,  173-177. 

Morley,  Right  Honorable  John,  168,  175  ' 

Mountcharles,  Earl  of,  149,  150 

Morris,  Captain,  277 

Morris,  William,  220 

Murray,  General  Honorable  Sir  Henry,  289 

Murray,  John,  261,  265 

Napier,  Macvey,  15 
Neate,  Charles,  98,  99 
Nelson,  Lord,  21 
Nettleship,  J.  T.,  232-234 
Nettleship,  Lewis,  166 
North,  Lord,  190 
Norton,  Honorable  Mrs.,  213 

Oliver,  Miss  Patty,  250,  251 

Paine,  "Tom,"  8 

Palmer,  Samuel,  224 

Palmer,  William,  83 

Palmerston,  Viscount,  3-7,  13,  20,  94,  126,  157,  158,  282,  283 

Peel,  Sir  Robert  (Second  Baronet),  16-18 

Peel,  Sir  Robert  (Third  Baronet),  16-18 

Pembroke  College,  Oxford,  Master  of,  167 

Penzance,  Lord,  44,  94,  95 

Perceval,  Miss,  284,  285 

Perceval,  Right  Honorable  Spencer,  257,  284-286 

Petty,  Lord  Henry,  284 

Pitt,  Right  Honorable  William,  6,  55,  284,  285 

Place,  Lieutenant,  R.  H.  A.,  159,  160 


322  INDEX — Continued 

Plymouth,  Lord,  190 

Pollock,  C.  E.,  71,  72,  74 

Pollock,  Chief  Baron,  55-58,  65,  66,  67,  71,  304 

Pollock,  Field  Marshal  Sir  George,  56 

Prince  Consort,  The,  161,  263 

Prince  Imperial,  The,   236 

Prince  of  Wales  (afterward  George  IV.),  153 

Prince  of  Wales  (afterward  Edward  VII.),  302,  303 

Princess  of  Wales  (afterward  Queen  Alexandra),  302,  303 

Queen  Victoria,  39,  161,  263,  264 

Reynolds,  Sir  Russell,  244 

Ridley,  Mr.  Justice,  41,  42 

Ridley,  Viscount,  42 

Rigby,  Sir  John,  87 

Riviere,  Breton,  R.  A.,  233 

Robertson,  Tom,  247,  248 

Rockingham,  Marquis  of,  282 

Roebuck,  Right  Honorable  J.  A.,  60 

Rosebery,  Earl  of,  38,  162,  279 

Rose,  Right  Honorable  George,  285 

Rosmead,  Lord,  177 

Rossetti,  Christina,  207-209 

Rossetti,  Dante  Gabriel,  197,  206,  214,  219,  221-225 

Rowton,  Lord,  114,  261 

Ruskin,  John,  181-184,  200,  201 

Russell,  Earl,  7,  8,  9 

Salisbury,  Bishop  of  (Doctor  John  Wordsworth),  18,  19 

Salisbury,  Marquis  of,  170 

Sant,  James,  R.  A.,  133 

Selborne,  Earl  of,  44 

Shelburne,  Lord,  193 

Shelley,  Lady,  300,  301 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe,  160,  161,  209,  299-301 

Shelley,  Sir  Bysshe,  301 

Shelley,  Sir  Percy,  299-303 

Shelley,  Sir  Timothy,  301 

Sheo,  Mr.  Justice,  185 

Sheridan,  Right  Honorable  Richard  Brinsley,   163,  217 

Simpson,  Palgrave,  251-253 

Smith,  Horace,  218 

Smith,  Reverend  John,  23 

Stanhope,  Citizen,  9 

Stanley,  Dean,  28,  236,  237 


INDEX — Continued  323 

Stead,  Mr.,  175 

St.  Asaph,  Bishop  of,  153 

Stowe,  Mrs.  Beecher,  298,  299 

Suffield,  Lord,  168 

Sumner,  Bishop,  1 49-1 51 

Swinburne,  Admiral,  210-212 

Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles,  202,  203,  206-213 

Tait,  Archbishop,  39,  40,  85,  126-130,  131,  134 

Tait  Craufurd,  127,  128 

Tait,  Mrs.,  131-133 

Talleyrand,  Prince,   156 

Tennyson,  Lord  Alfred,  90,  209 

Terriss,  William,  256-258 

Thackeray,  Miss  (Mrs.  Thackeray  Ritchie),  244 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace,  23,  60,  237-246 

Thesiger,  Honorable  Alfred  (Lord  Justice  of  Appeal),  114 

Thurlow,  Lord,  82,  90,  153 

Tighe,  Colonel,  289,  291 

Tighe,  Lady  Louisa,  289-291 

Toynbee,  Arnold,  166-169 

Trollope,  Anthony,  238,  246,  247 

Tweedmouth,  Lord  (E.  Marjoribanks),  37,  38 

Valpy,  Mr.  Leonard  Rowe,  201,  204,  221-224 

Vaughan,  Dean,  15,  35 

Vaughan,  Mr.  Edwin,  37 

Vaughan,  Mrs.  Edwin,  37 

Villiers,  Colonel  Honorable  George,  38 

Villiers,  Honorable  Francis,  36 

Walker,  Fred.,  A.  R.  A.,  225 

Walker,  I.  D.,  48 

Warren,  Samuel,  304-306 

Watts-Dunton,  231 

Weldon,  Mrs.,  106-111 

Wellesley,  Dean,  40 

Wellesley,  Marquis,  14 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  265,  282,  283,  288,  306 

Westbury,  Lord  (Sir  R.  Bethell),  88,  90-95,  161 

Westbury,  Second  Lady,  97 

Westcott,  Bishop,  15,  21,  47 

Wigan,  Alfred,  254,  255 

Wigan,  Horace,  303 

Wilberforce,  Bishop,  154-163 

Wilberforce,  Mr.  Reginald,  155 


324  INDEX — Continued 

Wilberforce,  William,  162,  163 

Wilde,  Oscar,  216-219 

Wilde,  Sir  J.  P.     (See  Penzance) 

Wilkes,  "Liberty,"  290 

William  the  Fourth,  King,  292,  293 

Wilmot,  Reverend  James,  190-193 

Winkley,  "Squire,"  33-36 

Wood,  Vice-Chancellor,  93,  94 

Worcester,  Bishop  of,  20 

Wordsworth,  Reverend  Doctor  Christopher,  3,   16-19,  I35 

Wordsworth,  Reverend  Doctor  John.      (See  Bishop  of  Sahs. 

bury) 
Wordsworth,  William,  234,  235 

Yates,  Edmund,  245,  246 
York,  Duke  of,  288 


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